


patisserie

by gotchick



Category: GOT7, TWICE (Band), UNIQ (Band)
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-05-13
Packaged: 2018-05-21 02:11:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 134,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6034147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gotchick/pseuds/gotchick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>ever since jb and junior started learning baking, they had dreamed of working with the famous patissier mark tuan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was Jackson who found the boy first.  
  
Later, the details of their first encounter had been blurred by time, the truth smudged and distorted by memory and their slightly varying recollections of the event, but JB thought it felt somehow wrong for him to allow Junior to go on thinking that JB was the one who had discovered him, in that abandoned, godforsaken corner of the alley where Jackson had stumbled across him while taking a cigarette break. A corner so dark that JB might truthfully, not even have noticed had he been with Jackson as he sometimes did when the customer flow tapered off enough to spare him fifteen minutes to take a breather with Jackson or one of the others. He would bum a cigarette off whichever hapless, unlucky soul happened to be accompanying him then, ruefully patting his pockets with entreating eyes and a hopeful, irresistible expression. Usually, that was enough to score him a cigarette, tipped reluctantly out of a crumpled, much-used box dug out of their apron or jeans back pocket, albeit with halfhearted grumbling.  
  
Mark had accused him on one of those occasions of cheating by using "puppy eyes", which JB innocently replied he had no idea what that meant after exhaling a plume of smoke with satisfaction.  
  
"Your cigarettes taste the best, hyung," he eye-smirked, narrowing his eyes and pursing his lips ever so slightly flirtatiously at Mark, who looked taken aback for a moment before he burst into a bark of laughter and shook his head exasperatedly, taking a quick drag of his own stick.  
  
Mark still sometimes seemed surprised when JB showed his playful side, maybe because out of the two years they had known each other, JB had only started to relax their boss-subordinate-slash-colleagues relationship into a friendship of sorts about six months ago. And to people who weren't his friends yet, JB was usually serious, stern and unsmiling.  
  
But Mark could hardly blame him for their relatively long progression between the two phases, JB thought idly. He himself hadn't been very helpful, strikingly similar to JB in some ways -- quiet, slow to warm up to new faces, except that Mark's reserve was of a softer, more timid kind. There was no other way to say it -- he was excruciatingly shy and absurdly awkward, but for some reason JB found his nervousness cute. It helped a little in thawing the aura of unapproachability Mark had, a kind of misleading first impression that was due mostly to his sheer skill, talent and renown. Even after two years, it was still intimidating and slightly surreal that he was sous baker to _Mark Tuan_ , one of the most sought-after and respected master artisan of pastries, bread and cakes in Los Angeles.  
  
On the day JB had received the call notifying him he had been shortlisted and eventually made the final selection for the job, the news had been unbelievable, a dream come true. He had admired Mark for as long as he had been learning baking professionally, which was five years by then. It was doubly amazing that despite being merely a year older than JB (a few months specifically, JB had calculated -- he was not a stalker, okay, just a very ardent fan; there was a fine but important distinction), he had managed to scale such heights in his prolific and illustrious career, while JB was in shabby contrast still an aspiring wannabe baker trying to carve out a name for himself.  
  
So when JB had gotten to know Mark, slowly but surely, inevitably from working in the same communal hot, steamy and yeasty kitchen day in and out, even though they hardly talked; hardly had time to talk even if they were chatty people, he was further intrigued and impressed by the equanimity with which Mark treated all his co-workers. He was equally impartial and addressed in the same soft-spoken but authoritative tone everyone who worked in his then-up-and-coming but limitlessly-potentialed bakery. That tone which said, quietly but indubitably: _I know what I'm doing, so just follow my instructions and nothing will go wrong_. And sure enough, even on the busiest, most frantic, frazzled of days the business both at the shopfront and behind the scenes ran like clockwork, smoothly and efficiently.  
  
Mark might be unskilled with words and oration, but he definitely had an impressively sharp business acumen, and JB was duly impressed. But he tried to hide his awe, not wanting to appear like a starstruck, foolish fanboy with idolatry stretching his mouth dumbly slack and his eyes gazing dazedly at Mark like a cow looking up at a butcher in a slaughterhouse.  
  
So instead, he proved his mettle not through empty words but actions, determined to pull his weight in labour, pushing himself to his limits, exhausting his furthest capabilities. And he was rewarded at the end of the first nerve-wracking week when Mark had taken him aside after work and offered him a cigarette. After JB had leaned in tentatively, cupping his stick to the flame and holding his lips uncomfortably close to Mark's fingers, which he only then noticed were unexpectedly refined, fair and tapered for a baker's, seeming as if they would look more at home picking out the delicate frets of a musical instrument. But at the same time, they were knuckled and strong, coarse and rough with the scars and calluses that were the badges of honour every self-respecting baker wore with pride.  
  
Mark flicked his thumb over the lighter, eyes dark and focused in concentration, and managed to rustle up a flame on the second try. He casually extracted another thin stick for himself as JB inhaled awkwardly and tried not to cough like an adolescent. Mark dangled the cigarette from the corner of his lips, dipped the tip towards the flame, pocketing the lighter with careless ease and taking a distracted pull, his eyes far away. The faint glowing ochre of the embers threw and oddly softening effect over the shadows under his eyes, the skin drawn tautly over his angular, finely-wrought cheekbones. JB felt, for a brief absurd, breathless moment, like one of the teenage girls swooning over celebrity patissier Mark Tuan, clipping his profile out of cooking magazines and tacking it onto their wall next to the latest underage teenybopper boyband that was this month's latest overnight fad.  
  
Mark didn't seem to notice the intensity of his scrutiny. There was something about his actions, both at work and rest, that contrasted with his mousy, tongue-tied blushes and the way he sometimes seemed unsure whether to walk with his left or right foot ahead. It wasn't confidence, per se, more of an unconscious assurance, and JB had noticed, even in their short span of interaction so far, that Mark was most at home in the kitchen. Specifically, in the kitchen alone, but JB liked to flatter himself by thinking Mark had started to relax around him after the last few days, after the necessary initial awkwardness and the first day of bumping into each other almost every other minute as they tried valiantly and uncomfortably to navigate around the cramped and cluttered kitchen Mark had been accustomed to occupying alone since the bakery opened till it had expanded and he had been forced to hire another hand in the kitchen. They squeezed past each other in a ridiculous dance, punctuated by muttered apologies and relievingly hummingbird quick hands conducting saves worthy of posterity and a few harrowing near-disasters when they almost failed to catch waterfalls of baking trays and stainless steel tins tumbling down from a high shelf. It would've been funny if JB hadn't felt so embarrassed, and worried that Mark would find him too klutzy and regret ever letting him set foot in his kitchen.  
  
But at the end of the shift, taking off his starched white top hat and running a hand through his sweaty, matted hair, Mark had opened his mouth before JB could.  
  
"Sorry," he said softly, flashing a tired but surprisingly disarming half-smile. "I'm not usually such a klutz."  
  
JB's cheeks grew hot. "Obviously!" he quickly replied loudly, flailing his hands in protest. "I mean, not at all! It was me who should apologize for getting in the way." He stuttered to a stop, cringing.  
  
Mark's smile grew slightly warmer, and JB's face promptly followed. He noted, with a tinge of envy, that Mark was unreasonably good-looking after a long and back-breaking day at work. He probably looked like the train wreck he felt like.  
  
"Don't say that. I thought you kept up pretty well," Mark said encouragingly and generously, and JB almost cried with gratitude. He barely restrained himself from wailing "Hallelujah" and kissing the ground at Mark's feet as he choked out lamely, "Thank you... Mr Tuan."  
  
"Call me Mark," Mark said easily, placing a light hand on his shoulder. "I guess we'll need a few days to work out the kinks."  
  
"Definitely," JB promised fervently. He would practice all the dances he could find on Youtube tutorial videos when he got home, from ballroom waltzes to the cha-cha, if it would mean he could sidestep fleet-footedly around Mark by the next few days.  
  
"You must be tired," Mark said, his eyes focusing on JB. They were soft and curious but friendly, and JB felt something in his muscles finally loosen and slacken, a weight sliding off his shoulders.  
  
"A little," he allowed himself to admit, breaking the connection between their eyes first and busying himself with undoing his apron.  
  
Although he wasn't looking at Mark, JB thought he could hear the smile still in his voice. "When you're done with the washing up, come out and join us for dinner. You did a good job today."  
  
The sound of the kitchen doors softly swishing closed thankfully shielded the sight of the pathetically huge grin aching on his face and cramping up all his tired muscles.  
  
  
  
The same thoughtful, faint smile was on Mark's face a week later, Friday night, when their shift was over and all the other workers were having their boisterous staff meal in the closed-up and darkened dining area at the front of the bakery. One kitchen and two walls away, Mark was leaning against the scuffed, grimy wall of the streetlamp-illuminated alley and exhaling a wisp of gossamer smoke that obscured his eyes in a hazy but luminous way as he said the words that JB couldn't believe he was hearing.  
  
"I'm really glad we hired you. You've been such a great help this week."  
  
"Seriously?" JB half-squeaked, half-screeched, clearing his throat immediately in embarrassment.  
  
Mark laughed, and unexpectedly, reached out to ruffle his hair. "I never say things I don't mean. You're a good worker. Give yourself some credit, JB."  
  
It was the first time Mark had said his name, slowly, unhurriedly, not in the harried, thoughtless shouts of "JB, can you help me take the loaves out of the oven?" or "Sorry, JB, but could you pop over to the storeroom and help me carry the sacks of brown sugar out?" or "Shit! JB, what's that burning smell?"  
  
"T-thanks... Mr... Mark," JB stammered, the warmth swelling in his heart threatening to overwhelm him. His voice sounded shamefully thick. _Stay cool, dumbass_ , he ordered himself sternly before he burst into tears or attacked Mark's frail frame in a smothering hug.  
  
"I told you you can call me Mark." Mark sounded amused. His hand had ruffled JB's hair into a matted mess, but JB didn't care as Mark slid it carelessly down the side of his face, falling onto his shoulder in a firm, brotherly clasp. Was JB... panting?  
  
After a moment, he realised he was. Sounding disturbingly like a dog.  
  
He shrugged off Mark's hand quickly. Mark looked mildly confused and hurt, but JB didn't know what to say to explain his fluster. He quickly replied, "I... couldn't. I... respect you too much." He blushed.  
  
The hurt shadowing Mark's face brightened slowly into surprise and pleasure. "You respect me?" he repeated, sounding a little disbelieving and thrown for the first time.  
  
"God, of course," JB blurted out heatedly. "I mean, duh. You're _you_."  
  
Mark blinked, looking startled by his words, then flushed.  
  
"Wow," he said eventually, after a pause. "That's... I didn't know. Thank you, JB."  
  
It was the second time he had said JB's name in a single conversation, and this time he lingered on the word, seriously, sincerely. JB felt something that could only be called idol worship spike pleasurably in his stomach. For God's sake, he was too old for this. He had to get a hold of himself before his cover was blown and he was exposed as Im Jaebum, pathetically-skewered fanboy specimen No. 342948.  
  
"You're from Korea, right?"  
  
JB nodded, thinking of the city lights at home home with a pang of missing. "Seoul."  
  
"What do you guys call older guys there?"  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"Well, in Chinese culture, we don't really use honorifics and stuff, but I heard it's a sign of respect for you guys, if I'm not wrong," Mark ventured with humble respect and genuine interest. A mischievous glint entered his eye. "And you _are_ a few months younger than me... yeah? Even if you do look more mature." There was no appropriate way to say this -- but the adorably disgruntled way Mark bit off the word _mature_ made chills rise on JB's skin.  
  
JB coughed guiltily, trying to derail this train of thought quickly, and gaped openly. "How did you know?"  
  
Mark rolled his eyes in a silent _duh_ , but he looked sheepish. "You filled in your birthday in your application form, remember?"  
  
"A-ah, right..." JB slapped his forehead to disguise his pleased surprise. Mark had perused his application so thoroughly, and even took note of and remembered his birthday? Because Jackson had been the one who interviewed him, he hadn't known Mark had been involved in the hiring process.  
  
"So..." Mark probed, "What would you call me, if we lived in Korea?"  
  
"Mark... hyung?" JB tested the name out gingerly on his tongue, the mix of Korean and English coming haltingly at first but unexpectedly not sounding dissonant.  
  
Mark smiled, pleased. "It sounds good," he murmured. "You can call me that." He dropped the stub of his cigarette and ground it out with the heel of his scuffed work boot. He turned to push open the door, the slice of light that slanted out momentarily casting his profile in a honeyed amber-bourbon.  
  
"Come in when you're done," he threw over his shoulder easily, leaving JB to savour the rest of his cigarette as the door swung closed with a muted latching sound, leaving him in the dark with indecipherable feelings and a dry throat.  
  
  


x

  
  
The first person Junior saw when he opened his eyes was JB. He was in a strange, dark room, a cramped, unfamiliar-smelling bed, with a face he had never seen before hovering over his, unnervingly close. At first glance, JB's slanted, almond-shaped eyes squinted into a frown as he tried to figure out Junior's identity, the grim, hard line of his mouth had seemed overwhelmingly forbidding. Junior's heart had dropped to his stomach. It wouldn't be the first time he had woken up in a foreign, hostile environment and had to fight his way out with a narrow escape.  
  
So that night, Junior had done the only thing he could, on instinct and impulse: sat up abruptly, deliberately without warning, head-butting JB hard enough that their foreheads cracked together sickeningly and JB landed on his rear at the foot of the bed, yelling in outrage, "OW! God dammit," followed by a few unrepeatable curse words.  
  
It was when JB lapsed unconsciously into Korean on his last few profanities that Junior's eyes widened. He had gathered that the guy in the room with him was Asian, but when he realised that he was with a fellow Korean, he felt slightly bad that he had sprung out so violently and slightly relieved. Even if the other party were a crook or a thug, they might show mercy once Junior revealed his common ethnicity. Maybe he was lucky, but since he had immigrated to LA almost a year ago, he had never met an unfriendly Korean here.  
  
"Sorry..." he started apprehensively in Korean, just as JB snapped on the light, illuminating his features schooled in a rightfully irritated expression, but something about his eyes told Junior that he was a decent person.  
  
"I... I thought you were a bad guy," he mumbled, ducking his head in embarrassment. JB was rubbing his forehead, where a pinkish bump was forming. Junior's own forehead throbbed sorely.  
  
"Is this how you repay someone for taking you in when you were sprawled like trailer trash at the Dumpster?" JB snapped, in Korean thankfully. (Of course, he didn't know JB's name yet.)  
  
"You found me... at a Dumpster?" Junior repeated, wincing in mortification. "God," he muttered in self-disgust under his breath, but JB heard.  
  
"Yeah, that's more like what you should be calling me," he sniped sarcastically.  
  
"Where am I?" Junior blurted out. This guy didn't seem like a hoodlum, but even respectable guys could sometimes expect sexual favours. The world was fucked up that way but he had no one except himself to blame for literally passing out on the street every time he got drunk, and getting drunk frequently anyway despite knowing it. What could he say, his life was a freak train wreck headed for certain self-destruction.  
  
"In our dorm," JB answered reluctantly and grouchily, still standing by the door. "You were passed out at the Dumpster near the bakery where I work. That area isn't the safest place and I didn't want to find your corpse while going to dump the trash tomorrow so I dragged you back here. Also, just so you know, you might want to go on a diet because you're heavy as fuck."  
  
Dorm...? Bakery? Junior blinked, looking around disorientedly. He had completely no impression of walking by a bakery or even a Dumpster. He let out another gusty, self-pitying sigh and ran a frustrated hand through his tangled hair. Shit, he reeked.  
  
Seeming to take a smidgen of pity on him, and discomfited by his silence, perhaps thinking Junior still doubted his intentions, JB elaborated, "This is my bedroom but there are other people living in this building too. On the same floor, just a door away." He moved his hand to the doorknob and said unceremoniously, "If you've finally come to your senses, you can leave now and return me my bed. It's three frickin' A.M., I need my beauty sleep."  
  
Junior winced at his brusque ungentlemanliness. "I'm Junior," he babbled belatedly, stalling for time. He pushed the blanket bunched up stickily around his chest down towards his knee level, struggling up to a sitting position unwillingly. His head spun and nausea threatened.  
  
"JB," the man replied without missing a beat, but he said it like _Goodbye_. Junior took the hint. He wasn't as thick-skinned as that, yet.  
  
He staggered down the dimly-lit hallway, weaving unsteadily. The building he was in was, to put it crudely and honestly, a shithole. The walls were fractured with spiderweb cracks and the ceilings were flaking and crumbling. It looked about thirty years old. What the hell was he doing here? Junior grabbed his head and moaned softly.  
  
Then everything flooded back to him. The seemingly insolveable, earth-crumbling problem that had plagued him last night and all of the nights before that, for weeks. The bird-brained solution he had finally come up with, out of sheer foolhardy desperation.  
  
_Oh_.  
  
He trudged a few more steps, dragging his feet and panicking, before JB's voice saved him.  
  
"Hey."  
  
Junior turned around, trying not to look too eager.  
  
JB's face was bitter, his voice gruff, but his words were surprisingly tactful. "Do you have a place to sleep tonight?"  
  
Junior took a deep breath; it was now or never. "Actually..." he started appealingly, heart pounding in his throat. He tried to sound confident, careless, not pleading. "Are you guys maybe renting out a spare room? I'm looking for a place to stay..."  
  
  
  
The next morning and he was still reeling inwardly at how his plan had miraculously, crazily, worked. He was inside the patisserie, the patisserie, at JB's side, being introduced to Mark and Jackson; Yugyeom, Youngjae and Bambam capering around them excitedly like unleashed puppies, having already been haphazardly introduced to Junior at the crack of dawn and of course, already besotted with their newest hyung. It didn't matter that only Yugyeom and Youngjae were Korean too; Bambam seemed the most smitten with him and had already adopted Junior as his surrogate _umma_. Bambam's grasp of the Korean language was so impressively fluent that Junior had surprisingly not instinctively classified him as a Koreaboo. He informed Junior proudly that he owed this proficiency entirely to Yugyeom's tutelage, at which Youngjae made a horsey _Hmphh_ sound and folded his arms, ignoring them the rest of the way to the patisserie (which wasn't actually far, only two blocks).  
  
But all Junior could think, at this instant, was Mark. _Mark Tuan_ , in the flesh. It was nothing short of incredible, like meeting a mythical, legendary figure.  
  
That, and trying to act like he had no idea who Mark was at all.  
  
_Breezy, Park Jinyoung_ , he coached himself, baring his teeth in a tremulous smile and trying to keep his lower lip from trembling as Mark warmly and obliviously shook his hand and very kindly said that of course they could hire Junior, what a wonderful coincidence that he had walked in by himself and saved Mark the trouble of putting up the Help Wanted sign he had been intending to do for the past week.  
  
"Technically, this dorm is only for the bakery staff," JB had told him importantly and haughtily earlier that morning. "So you can't stay here unless you work for us. Even if you pay."  
  
_Who in his right mind would want to stay in this pigsty?_ Junior had bitten his tongue to keep from retorting. If JB got a load of the apartment he had onced lived in, in Upper Manhattan, no less, he would choke on his own spit. Seriously, Junior had zero self-control, especially when it came to those prissy types who acted like sticks in the mud and felt like sticks up his ass.  
  
So he had forced himself to simper nauseatingly sweetly, summoning up all his meagre two lessons' worth of acting class he had attended when he first arrived at Hollywood a year ago, foolishly young and impressionable and under the delusion he wanted to be an actor. A few auditions for TV soap roles of token/resident Asian dude who was a Mathematics whiz and violin prodigy and had a grand total of one line in the episode quickly put an end to that.  
  
Now, he blinked back remarkably convincing tears as he whimpered heart-rendingly, in a wheedling tone, "Hyung, I... I..." He widened his eyes purposefully in mock frightened shock. "I can't remember anything! Oh my god, I think I lost my memory!"  
  
JB blinked at him dim-wittedly for a few seconds, before he processed the implications of what Junior was saying. "What do you mean?" he said irritably, dismayingly unruffled. "You just told me your name yesterday. Are you all right in the head? Have you been taking drugs?" JB made a disapproving, censorious tongue-clicking noise and shook his head in disdain.  
  
Junior nearly growled out loud and stalked out of the door there and then. It was only the prospect of his plan maybe, hopefully succeeding, that spurred him to continue his doomed charade. "I... I only remember my name..." he continued sniffling valiantly. "I don't remember where I live, or who I am..."  
  
"What the hell kind of amnesia is that?" JB was looking increasingly dubious, as if he suspected Junior was a nut job and was already regretting taking him in.  
  
"Um... partial... amnesia?" Junior tried, cluelessly.  
  
He was flinging his head down dramatically in despair, preparing to make his tragic exit, when JB stopped him again with the same gruff voice as the previous night that was befuddlingly at odds with his words. "I'll ask the boss if he's looking for an extra hand. You can come with me to the bakery later."  
  
This time, Junior did throw his arms around JB in utter and uncontrollable glee, his aggrievation and bristling animosity forgotten in the face of JB's completely unexpected softheartedness.  
  
"Thanks, hyung!" he almost wept, this time much more realistically because it was genuine. "I owe you!"  
  
"Make sure you pay back the favour," JB snipped like a frazzled housewife, peeling Junior off his body blithely. "And don't act like we're close, damn it. We just met yesterday."  
  
  
  
Mark instructed the blond-haired guy called Jackson to brief Junior on his duties, and be his buddy for the next few days, till he got the hang of the job, before drifting dreamily back into the kitchen, mumbling something distractedly about being very busy with a batch of cakes on the new menu he was conducting food tastings for that afternoon. But Junior only noticed the way he seemed to float back into the kitchen, decked in all-white like a culinary angel, gliding on light, almost soundless footsteps, the late morning sun pouring through the polished, sparkling glass windows of the bakery backlighting his strawberry-blond hair like a halo. God, he looked every bit as delicious as the pastries he made, and Junior's crush was strictly platonic.  
  
He felt JB staring at the way he glowed and swelled with pride under Mark's absent but benevolent beam on him as he sailed away in his cloud of fragrant, freshly-baked-bread-and-flour-scented cologne. Someone needed to bottle that heavenly scent. Maybe he would.  
  
JB huffed at his uncontainable admiration and Mark's attention and obviously positive first impression of him. A case of sour grapes, no doubt. Junior ignored the way he flounced pettily away after Mark, then realised belatedly that the guy named Jackson was staring oddly at him as well. He checked himself hastily, hoping he hadn't given himself away with his carelessness. It wouldn't do to blow his cover after he had just gotten the in.  
  
But thankfully, Jackson didn't remark on it, remaining detached and professional as he halfheartedly introduced Junior to the rest of the crew working the morning shift. They were doing the opening procedures now, preparing to lift the shutters in twenty minutes time and everyone seemed hard at work, polishing glasses, powering an industrial-sized mop around the already gleaming marble floor, or swiping a pristine white cloth over the tables to capture invisible specks of dust. For a moment, Junior just basked in the sheer magic of it, of standing in the place he had dreamt of so long, simply because it was the home of the most mouth-watering bread he had ever tasted and the formidable man who had baked it. it was enough to bring one to the verge of tears.  
  
He blinked, feeling strangely sentimental, and caught Jackson watching him again, silent but hawklike. He looked like he was attempting to figure Junior out and it was disconcerting because Junior absolutely did not want to be figured out. If they knew of his ulterior motives, how he had hidden cunning behind artlessness and taken advantage of their kindness, they would undoubtedly fire him immediately and Junior had not even been a staff-on-probation for ten minutes and he was already feeling attached.  
  
So he drew Jackson's attention away from himself hastily by asking some inane question, sounding bright and chipper, like he was an unsophisticated hick simply honoured to work here. Which he was, just not the hick part. He sighed. It would be hard to disguise the class and worldliness he, Park Jinyoung, exuded effortlessly.  
  
He glimpsed a fleeting glitter of dark amusement dancing in Jackson's eyes for a split-second before it was gone and floundered, flustered. But then he decided he must have imagined it as Jackson started introducing the staff one by one to him in a bland, toneless voice that implied he was bored stiff to be saddled with Junior.  
  
"Tzuyu and Momo, our _dian hua_. You'll meet Nayeon and Mina if you stick around for the afternoon shift, so don't hold your breath," he drawled laconically, not bothering to point out the three boys he had already met at the dorm who had sloped off to wolf down their staff meal before the shift started, at a table in the corner of the restaurant. The food, some kind of noodles and mixed rice that was piled high in enormous, graceless basins uncannily similar to troughs for feeding pigs didn't look half as appetizing as the displays of flawless cakes behind proudly-dusted and speckless glass cases, but that was just Junior's inner food snob speaking. He didn't understand the foreign phrase Jackson said and guessed by the sound of the words that he was speaking Chinese.  
  
"Wait, let me guess what that means," he held a finger up theatrically, even though Jackson didn't show any inclination to explain the phrase to him. "Hooters babes?" he chirped loudly and triumphantly, sure of the unfailing accuracy of his intuition. This time, Jackson laughed out loud, not bothering to seem polite.  
  
"Shop flowers," he corrected, managing to sound both superior and condescending in two words, delivered in insultingly fluent English, Junior bristlingly noted, in an accent that was as snobby and affected as any of Junior's airs and with a sassiness that made his skin tingle like electricity. Mercilessly and tormentingly, Jackson added conversationally, "Does anyone still use the word _babes_ in the twenty-first century?"  
  
Sweet baby Jesus. That accent... Junior's pants suddenly felt too tight.  
  
He was so distracted with this revelation and intriguing insight into Jackson's personality that he barely registered that Momo was the dishwasher. Granted, she was wearing criminally-short denim cutoff minishorts, her muscular and tanned thighs thrusting out and her ass sticking perkily in the air as she bent for an unnecessarily long time over the dishwasher. Junior caught sight of the noodles sliding slimily out of Yugyeom's mouth as he took in this risque sight. Interestingly, Bambam and Youngjae continued scarfing down their noodles like a half-naked, gorgeous girl wasn't bobbing her very fine ass in the air in front of their eyes.  
  
Both Momo and Tzuyu were wearing the same uniform -- a sports bra-like white, near-translucent shirt with their names emblazoned in overly large hot pink, sparkly letters right over their ample cleavage (he was pretty sure they were wearing push-up bras, if they were so well-endowed they wouldn't be washing dishes and waiting tables but posing for Playboy), although Tzuyu was a runner working the floor.  
  
"What about you?" he asked Jackson, not out of any real interest but just to make flippant conversation. Jackson seemed to be close to Mark and the shrewd side of Junior reminded him naggily that it would do him good to kiss up to Jackson, butter him up no matter how slimy it felt.  
  
Jackson cocked an eyebrow at him appraisingly, one side of his lips rising in a half-smirk, like he was too lazy to even smirk properly at Junior. His eyes were hooded, faint bluish bruises smudging his undereyes but making him look more like he was doing a chic-just-rolled-out-of-bed magazine shoot than tired or sleep-deprived. His slickly tousled blond locks needed a haircut and fell into his drowsy eyes with irritating perfection. He was (there was no other way to put it) infuriatingly good-looking.  
  
And the way he looked Junior up and down, painfully, skin-crawlingly slowly, like he had all the time in the world, made Junior's face hit up like a Teflon saucepan on a fired-up stove.  
  
"I'm..." Jackson's smirk widened enigmatically, pausing dramatically (Had he taken the same shitty acting class as Junior? No, he decided furiously. He would've noticed), "... the sexy bartender."  
  
Junior proceeded to choke on his own spit and develop a loud hacking and wheezing fit.  
  
"I... see," he gasped breathily after it was over. Jackson's eyes had already moved away from him, like he had lost interest. Junior felt his spine stiffen, offended.  
  
"Jackson... _ge_?" he blurted out thoughtlessly, in a last-ditch attempt to win back Jackson's flighty attention. Even after he was almost fully accustomed to Western cuisine, only occasionally but fiercely missing his mother's homemade kimchi and the japchae and ddukbokki from the roadside stalls near his high school, dirt cheap but as delicious as the most extravagant and pricey of foie gras and caviar to him, he still hadn't fully gotten used to dropping formalities and honorifics, the easygoing and undiscriminating way people of various age gaps mingled in America.  
  
The Chinese word successfully made Jackson's head turn back to him, that sparkle back in his eyes that made Junior want to slap or punch it off his face. With his lips, preferably... what the fuck?  
  
"I haven't heard that word in some time," Jackson said slowly, eyes boring intensely into Junior's again, but the irony in his gaze lightening their grip. He was starting to suspect that perhaps Jackson saw everything as a joke.  
  
Including him.  
  
He blushed furiously, before Jackson continued thoughtfully, "... but it sounds good coming from your mouth."  
  
Junior goggled speechlessly. Did that mean he didn't mind if Junior called him that from now on? Or that he expected it? Belatedly, Junior regretted, the deferential address making him feel submissive towards and at Jackson's mercy, Jackson Wang with his devilish grin and roguish warm chocolate eyes. Junior shuddered; he could just predict that Jackson would be the bane of his existence, royal pain in his ass, etcetra for the next few weeks, months, however long he would end up staying.  
  
"Thanks," he mumbled formally, backing away a few discreet steps and trying to put some distance between them. Their proximity suddenly felt dangerous and Junior attempted to drift away subtly, but Jackson seemed not to notice his abrupt discomfort and desire for personal space, stepping forward boldly and invading it entirely.  
  
"Uhh..." Junior looked around hastily for rescue. "Maybe I should go help... Momo or Tzuyu?" He was grasping at straws.  
  
If the girls heard their names being called, they gave no indication of it, Tzuyu not pausing her sashaying catwalk through the labyrinth of tables as she bulldozed a wet cloth over gleaming sandalwood and billowed tablecloths gracefully like they were Marilyn Monroe's skirt being airborne by a gust of hurricane-like wind. Momo looked like she was dancing to invisible music as she waited for the latest loud of dishes to wash, whipping her head from side to side and tossing her Barbie-blonde curls with abandon, but even more amazingly than that, she actually looked glamorous instead of a fool. Junior gulped a mouthful of saliva as their midriff-baring tops rode up high on their impossibly tiny waists, practically half the size of their bouncing boobs. Hourglass figures like that didn't actually exist in real life.  
  
Jackson snapped his fingers in front of his eyes, and Junior started out of his reverie to see Jackson frowning, his eyes now impatient. "You're here to work, so get cracking and stop drooling." His voice was cool and impassive now, like an army commander giving orders. Junior flinched.  
  
He trailed shamefacedly at Jackson's heels as he strode briskly to the storeroom to unearth a set of uniform for him to change into. "You'll be running the food with Tzuyu today," he fired off, "but don't even think of perving on her. She's taken."  
  
Junior's eyes bulged at this information, less because he was disappointed than because Tzuyu looked about twelve, if you ignored the general chest area and rear end. There was really something majorly wrong with this world if a little girl like her had a boyfriend and he, Junior, didn't. And yes, you heard right, a boyfriend.  
  
He idly wondered if he could stun Jackson's unflappable poker face and stony calm into an uncharacteristic squeak if he declared, "I'm out of the closet."  
  
By this time, they had reached the literal closet in the storeroom, and an avalanche of sacks of coffee beans rained down on them as Jackson dove in gracelessly and sloppily, conveniently missing hitting Jackson but managing to whack Junior square on the head thrice before he got the good sense to duck out of the way.  
  
"Sorry," Jackson threw over his shoulder unapologetically. "This place is chaotic. We were going to ask the newbie to rearrange it when we do inventory this week. Oh, right... that's you, I guess." Jackson's smirk widened almost sadistically.  
  
Junior bent to pick up the sacks of coffee beans in a strategic move to hide the way his cheeks were flaming like a Tropicana sunrise and his crotch was bulging suspiciously. Furtively, he grabbed the proferred wad of clothes from Jackson and skittered away directionlessly without a clue about where the restroom was.  
  
"On the left, dumbass!" Jackson hollered loudly after him, making his head suddenly feel like a latent volcano about to erupt. Before his (colourful if he did say so himself) lexicon of Korean curse words could bubble from his lips, Junior flung himself sullenly into the restroom and slammed a cubicle door shut, filled with repressed anger as he thrusted his arms into the shirtsleeves unseeingly.  
  
Due to his blind wrath, he didn't notice the glaring, dubious ugly whitish stains marring the front of otherwise fashionably trendy shade of olive-green of the collared uniform polo shirt. He gnashed his teeth in impotent annoyance. Did Jackson purposely give him the dirtiest, oldest one, just to spite him?  
  
Junior shook his head in disbelief. It ought to be illegal for someone so childish and insufferable to be so... fucking adorable.  
  
He marched out of the restroom, ammunition at the ready. Jackson was leaning against the door in his, of course, spotlessly clean (though attractively and accidentally on purpose creased) own green polo shirt. He looked like a disgustingly rich _chaebol_ about to go for a round of golfing on his yacht or something equally ridiculous.  
  
He ran his eyes up and down Junior's body again, like they were lasers and he was doing an optical strip-search. They'd barely met for a half hour and he had already done this more times than Junior could count. It was getting tiring. Could he report this as workplace sexual harrassment?  
  
When he opened his mouth, though, what came out was a meek, cowed whine. "Why aren't I wearing the same thing as Tzuyu? There's no colour co-ordination at all..."  
  
Jackson snickered and snorted attractively. "I wish," he breathed.  
  
"What?" Junior blurted out, startled. It suddenly felt hard to breathe.  
  
Jackson tilted his head, studying him. "I said, you wish," he repeated evenly.  
  
"Oh..." Junior swallowed, feeling stupid. Was he seriously so bewitched by this guy already that he was hearing things? Crap, he needed help.  
  
"God dammit," Jackson said clearly, stalking away without a backward glance. "I thought giving him the ugliest shirt would make him look slightly less hot. Mark, I'm gonna lodge an appeal to change the uniform to fucking garbage bags! If that twerp still looks cute as fuck in that, I'm quitting."  
  
  


x

  
  
Anyway, that was how Junior mistakenly thought that JB was the one who had found him at the Dumpster, propped up against the stinking, hulking plastic bin like a disembodied and limbless human-sized rag doll. Sure, JB had been the one who hoisted him onto his back, grumbling all the while that this homeless dude was heavier than three sacks of rice and stunk worse than the sewage tank in their dormitory. Jackson had pretended to help, lazily grabbing hold of one floppy arm and promptly letting it swing back bonelessly against JB's side when he realised how grimy his nails were. "This guy needs a manicure!" he had shrieked, scandalized, and JB had yelled, "Shut the fuck up and go open the door for me if you're going to be useless, Jackson!"  
  
And then somehow, JB had been manipulated, before he could even wrap his mind around what was happening, into getting the guy named Junior a job at the bakery. They didn't even know him; he could have a criminal record or be preying on the two wads of banknotes stuffed beneath the coin drawer of their cash register. But despite all his misgivings, JB had found the gullible side of him relenting, falling for the painfully obvious ruse hook, line and sinker. Marshmallow, giant teddy bear, chocolate lava cake, the three youngest boys in the dorm called him alternately, depending on the occasion and their mood. Because like these things, his prickly cactuslike exterior was merely a front unable to conceal his gooey, mushy insides. The three of them, especially, climbed all over his head. Sometimes he wished he were back in Korea and Youngjae and Yugyeom would have to call him _hyung-nim_ and he could pull Bambam into a headlock for sticking his tongue out naughtily at him.  
  
At least he wasn't being a nuisance or causing them extra trouble, JB conceded grudgingly, watching Junior glide expertly through the maze of tables, dishing out plates left and right and balancing a precarious stack of ceramic dishes on the inside of his arm like he had been doing this all his life as he blew past JB through the kitchen to dump them at the dishwasher.  
  
"He's a hard worker," Mark remarked, looking impressed and watching Junior with satisfaction as well. "Where'd you find him? Well done, JB." Mark smiled at him, but JB felt a pang of jealousy. He hadn't been here long enough to be upstaged by some smooth-talking pretty boy with a smile too charming for his own good. If his name was Im Jaebum, Mark's precious attention wouldn't be stolen away so easily by some random -- not even a _man_ , Jaebum thought scornfully, not like _him_ \-- boy.  
  
So, with the kind of stunningly artless artifice that won people multiple Oscars, he managed to dropped the entire slippery tube of frosting he was holding in both hands and icing Mark's latest creation, fresh out of the oven and without a single flaw until the wriggly white tube plopped into the middle of it like a fish and destroyed the artwork.  
  
"FUCK, HYUNG! I'M SORRY!" He wailed so loudly that Momo stopped dancing to the music in her head and glared at him in annoyance and Bambam and Yugyeom stuck their heads into the door, peeping curiously, eyes sparkling with the possibility of disaster. They positively cackled when they saw the crashed cake and the look on Mark's face, which had turned alarmingly white. He hadn't moved an inch since two minutes ago when he spun around with saucer-like eyes which doubled in size at the sight of the cake, a blood vessel throbbing dangerously in his neck. The only indication that he had not frozen into a block of ice was his eyes, which blinked vacantly as if on clockwork every few seconds.  
  
By now, regret and alarm and fear were starting to creep up on JB, and a crushing guilt. He knew Mark had spent two hours on the cake, and entrusted him -- and only him -- with the job of icing it. But his petty jealousy had just blinded him momentarily, causing him to make a brash mistake. JB gulped. "I'm so sorry, hyung..." He was close to tears.  
  
At this moment, footsteps neared, rounding the corner, and who should appear in the kitchen but Junior, _Park Jinyoung_ \-- JB had nosily found out his name from his application form that morning and now mentally gnashed it between his teeth -- beaming sunnily with his megawatt customer-service PR grin wreathing his face.  
  
In a second, it transformed into dismay so quickly JB almost got whiplash. He belatedly and crestfallenly realised that his plan had tragically backfired as Junior's entire face collapsed in a remarkably convincing frown, like he actually cared about whether the cake was ruined and not just wanted to kiss up to Mark like so many other leeches and hangers-on JB had studiously guarded the unsuspecting Mark against these few months, a thankless but personally rewarding task.  
  
"Oh, no!" Junior exclaimed exaggeratedly, though more eloquently than JB himself, who was still mutely observing the scene like a shell-shocked witness to a freak accident. "What should we do, Mark-hyung?"  
  
"WHO SAID YOU COULD CALL HIM _HYUNG_?!" JB exploded, making them both whirl around to regard him like perhaps he had lost his marbles and wanted to excuse himself so they could be undisturbed in their own private world. Fat chance of that. JB blushed hotly, but forced himself to continue glaring unabashedly at Junior. He didn't dare to look at Mark's face, and could only imagine the confusion and hurt scrawled across his gentle features.  
  
"I don't know," Mark replied fretfully and slightly tearfully, both of them ignoring JB's outburst like he was the resident madman of the bakery who occasionally busted out random and inexplicable sentences no one needed to answer. JB had never felt more humiliated or slighted in his life. "I need it for the tasting session in one hour," Mark continued, holding Junior's eyes with utmost gravity as if Junior's opinion was the sacred authority on the matter. "A food critic I wanted to impress... is coming."  
  
At Mark's helpless and frustrated confession, the guilt finally crashed over JB like a tidal wave, drowning him. It was hard to breathe. How could he even think of using Mark's work... Mark's sacrosanct work, wrought by his holy hands, to snatch his gaze by underhanded means? JB felt like the lowest creature on earth.  
  
Deep in his self-berating, he didn't notice Junior surveying the destroyed cake thoughtfully, then politely and with the same reverence JB shared (and for the briefest instant felt a kindred spirit for), extend his hand. "May I?"  
  
Mark nodded listlessly, eyes looking bleak.  
  
Junior's eyes were free of his usual sardonical humour, touchingly earnest and serious as he carefully, gently lifted the frosting tube out of the centre of the cake. "Ah... I thought so. Thankfully, only the top layer is damaged." True enough, JB and Mark realised that in their frenzy they had not noticed that only the first out of the three layers, increasing in circumference towards the bottom, had a gaping hole drilled in it.  
  
"Is this chiffon?" Junior picked up a crumb from the collapsed cave of the top layer and nibbled on it.  
  
"Sponge," Mark replied quickly, hope starting to flicker in his eyes.  
  
"Oh," Junior smiled, satisfied. "Close enough."  
  
He looked up to study the towering stacks of tin cans of varying widths and breadths on the metal shelf above the countertop, then trailed his fingers across their rims, eventually plucking one which JB had sawn out the bottom to use as a shape-puncher out. He hovered it above the top layer of the cake, and looked pleased. "Perfect."  
  
Then, as Mark and JB watched open-mouthed, he swiftly and unflinchingly thrust the round metal tin into the center of the mess of the top layer of the cake, right down to the bottom. They heard the clank of tin striking tin, and JB gulped.  
  
But Junior seemed to be sure of what he was doing as he continued with steady hands to use a wide, flat butter knife to carve a perfect circle in the groove the metal puncher had punctured. There was another clank of the knife tip striking it, and JB seethed silently at the way Junior stuck his tongue between his teeth as he concentrated, and how unfairly adorable he looked doing it. All he hoped was that Mark was too stricken to notice it as well.  
  
He winged a swift prayer as a sideways glanced confirmed that Mark was apparently still too distraught and absorbed by what Junior was doing as he watched avidly Junior whisking on a pair of kitchen gloves and ceremoniously lifting the entire cylinder of the centre of the cake out. The hole JB had created had vanished without a trace, and the cake looked perfect once again.  
  
"Oh my god, you're a genius!" Mark looked like he was about to kiss Junior for saving his precious cake, and Junior in fact looked like he would readily reciprocate. JB fumed uselessly and barged between them rudely.  
  
"Thank you," he said coolly. "Your work is done here. You can go out now; don't leave Tzuyu alone to handle everything by herself."  
  
Junior looked appropriately chastised by his words, quickly dropping the gloves in the bin and slinking out with a hasty smile to Mark and a reassuring thumbs-up. "Thanks so much, Junior!" Mark called after him, every affectionate word making JB grimace. "You're a lifesaver!"  
  
Junior saluted him cutely, calling back glibly without missing a beat, "It was no big deal, boss! Hwaiting~!" (No, seriously. JB could here the ~ before his exclamation mark. He sounded so peppy, he practically sang it.) And... _boss_?  
  
Mark bustled around happily, crisis successfully averted and promptly forgotten, humming as he added the finishing touches to his newly-improved cake. JB was sure he was just busy and not intentionally ignoring him and nursing a grudge for nearly sabotaging his prized cake. Well... he hoped. He sulked in a corner of the kitchen and kicked himself as he mourned over how preposterously unfair, but at the same time making total complete sense, was the fact that Junior had effortlessly proven himself to Mark on the first day of work and sailed right into his good books.  
  
  
  
But the unfortunate incident was soon forgotten in the lunchtime rush, and then it was a harriedly gulped down staff meal and the debriefing before the afternoon shift started. Mina and Nayeon arrived, and he watched Junior's jaw drop at their traffic-stopping beauty which he and the other guys had grown so used to that the only one who still bothered to hit on them now was Yugyeom. That kid was inexhaustible and insatiable. (And if he was thinking of two-timing the two beauties, an imbecile.)  
  
Mark sat beside him during lunch, plopping down unexpectedly and carelessly as JB's face was buried in his plate, shoveling some unidentifiable mushy slop down his throat (The staff meals were frankly horrid, because Mark had no time to cook personally; he was too busy making cakes. You would think two girls would be better in the kitchen than a bunch of bumbling guys. You would be wrong.)  
  
He shot JB a brief, harrassed smile, and that was enough to make him happy for an entire afternoon.  
  
It was pathetic, but it was his dirty little secret. He lived for Mark's rare, lopsided smiles... but who could blame him?  
  
  
  
Anyway, as the afternoon wore on and the midday naptime urge hit, that oppressive summer heat wave that hung over them like a blanket and made them stifle yawns, their movements growing a degree more sluggish, a few things happened, in no particular order.  
  
Nayeon somehow migrated to the dishwasher, and ended up washing some kind of utensils that made her look like she was gyrating and grinding her low-rise-shorts-clad hips against Momo's. Which wasn't that surprising; the first time it had happened it had raised some of their eyebrows but even the most mysterious of sights tended to grow old after more than ten times.  
  
Mark steadily grew deeper and deeper absorbed into his own happy La-la land inhabited only by his queue of neverending cakes and pastries and loaves of flour-dusted bread, and himself; which resulted in him not bothering to tell Nayeon to go back to her assigned duty of hostess, leaving Mina to run around juggling the three jobs of hostess, runner and drinks runner simultaneously while cursing in Japanese and swearing (in Korean, so everyone knew she was _pissed_ ) to quit her job today or she would change her name from Myoui Mina (a feat JB personally thought was worthy of being featured in the Guinness Book of Records).  
  
Today, though, something out of the ordinary had happened for once. A customer seated alone at the bar, a chic-looking young girl wearing oversized sunglasses and a scarlet A-line skirt, had leaned brazenly across the counter and enquired with amused interest, "What would you change it to?"  
  
JB would have bet ten bucks that Mina would have ignored this girl, like all the other twenty-five customers (during her shift alone) that tried fruitlessly to hit on Mina -- had the girl not spoken this in fluent, charismatic and husky Japanese.  
  
This time, he saw Mina hesitate for the first time, her head turning in curiosity. The customer waited, her thin, luscious lips curled in a kittenish and sultry grin.  
  
It turned cheeky when Mina blushed prettily, and she peeled off her sunglasses to gaze into the frazzled waitress' eyes. The mysterious stranger tucked the wisps of hair escaping Mina's bun behind her ear. No one in the bakery had never seen the usually mouthy Mina so speechless before.  
  
The girl stared intensely and seductively into Mina's eyes with her own dark, mascara-ed peepers. She batted her lashes and delivered her winning pick-up line smoothly. "Because my name is MinatozakI Sana. If you married me, you'd become Minatozaki Mina, Mina Mina for short. Has a rather nice ring to it, don't you think?"  
  
Mina droppped the stack of dirty dishes she was balancing on the crook of one arm as she gripped the counter unsteadily, knees buckling (it was unclear due to the cheesiness of the line or the potency). Bambam let out a supremely unmasculine shriek which he would later categorically deny came from his mouth as Yugyeom and Youngjae dashed forward nobly to save the falling plates, unfortunately crashing into each other and sprawling all over each other in a tangle of long legs and arms that for some reason no one could understand made Bambam's face redden with earth-shattering betrayal as he stomped off, screaming, "I HATE YOU, CHOI YOUNGJAE!" (He would later deny this too.)  
  
(Since JB was the only one who understood Japanese, the rest of the people in the restaurant were pretty confused about what was going on, except that it was girl-on-girl action. Hot girl-on-girl action. Which guy would say no to watching a scene right out of a _yuri_ manga being reenacted by two stunningly beautiful ladies? Therefore, the guys who had spectacularly failed in hitting on Mina before that were torn between drooling in lust and glaring daggers at Sana, who didn't seem to be bothered as she swung her tresses over her shoulder with a fabulous hairflip.)  
  
  
  
In short, the afternoon was pure chaos and pandemonium. In other words, it was just another day at the patisserie.  
  
The teatime rush died down, and a decent handful of customers trickled in at dinner time, but not so many that they were swamped like earlier in the day. Obviously, Mark was still in his own blissful universe. Mina had actually quit today, to all of their surprise. They hadn't broke the news to Mark yet; they were going to play rock paper scissors to determine the unfortunate bearer later. She had sailed off with nary a backward glance at their woebegone faces, arm in arm with Sana, who had declared romantically that she had fallen in love at first sight with Mina and would from then on be her sugar mommy for the rest of eternity.  
  
Bambam and Youngjae clung to each other sadly, sniveling as Mina left cruelly, abandoning all her doting oppas. But privately they seemed gleeful for some reason, shedding crocodile tears. Only Yugyeom seemed truly heartbroken, warbling _One Less Lonely Girl_ by Justin Bieber as he drunk himself into oblivion with chocolate milk. They knew he was genuinely devastated, because he only broke into his treasured, hoarded stash of chocolate milk in the most desperate and hopeless circumstances. Tzuyu flounced off in disgust upon seeing the tears glimmering in his eyes, muttering darkly about playboys and Casanovas. Gazing forlornly at her retreating back, Yugyeom screeched Justin's high note like a walrus giving birth. To triplets.  
  
Bambam and Youngjae gloated evilly over Yugyeom's certain doom to spinsterhood in the security of their future marital bliss.  
  
  
  
Anyway, it was at this juncture of the pandemonic, anarchy-filled evening that JB made a life-changing discovery. It blindsided him as shockingly as if Mark had told him that his last name was actually Cullen and he was a sparkly vampire.  
  
What he discovered was... -- he shuddered; he needed to steel his heart to even begin contemplating it -- ... the glimpse of a possibility that Junior might possibly fall in love with him. In the near future.  
  
And it was horrifying. The stuff of nightmares, no less.  
  
It was a valid concern, okay, an actual, real possibility. He had perfectly justifiable reasons for worrying about this.  
  
It was all caused by his damned nosiness when he was sauntering past the storeroom where they kept the coffee beans and spare uniforms to get away from Yugyeom who had replaced _girl_ with _oppa_ and started belting _One Less Lonely Oppa_ off-tune like he was the male reincarnation of Beyonce Knowles and Mariah Carey combined, and saw the door ajar. Muffled voices were drifting from the crack so he sneaked closer to eavesdrop... and heard Jackson biting Junior's head off.  
  
To be specific, he vaguely discerned the subject of the argument from Jackson's high-pitched, outraged fingernails-on-chalkboard screech saying something that sounded like, "Can you stop being so fucking KAWAII for one second, I swear to God --"  
  
But he was interrupted by JB pushing the door open rudely and effectively smacking Jackson square in the face because Jackson's voice was getting dangerously low in that way that warned blows were going to break out and JB had reached his bullshit quota for the day.  
  
" _OWWW!!! FUCK_ \--" Jackson's voice rose to a ear-splitting decibel as JB burst into the closet-storeroom to find Junior looking suspiciously crimson and so paralyzingly stupefied JB would have taken pity on him had he not been his love rival.  
  
They both winced as Jackson roared, "MY NOSE IS BLEEDING IS THAT YOU IM FUCKING JAEBUM YOU'RE DEAD MEAT --"  
  
Maybe you thought that at this point of time, JB ran away shitting bricks. If so, you thought wrong. Because with the courage of Joan of Arc, he stood his ground and closed the door of the closet so he could see Jackson, who was indeed bleeding slightly from the nose and whose face was red as a tomato (though from lust or mortification or anger JB didn't know and didn't care), and then he bellowed fearlessly right back at Jackson, "Don't you dare bully the newbie on his first day, you fuckhead! Did you know this loser has amnesia?"  
  
_Then_ he ran.  
  
... But not before he saw the expression on Junior's face, astonished and breathless and slack-jawed. The expression of a princess gazing up at her dark knight or Prince Charming on a white stallion. The expression JB imagined he wore when he gazed upon Mark.  
  
The expression of a cow at the slaughterhouse gazing up at the butcher.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i... dek what this is i started out intending to be serious but somehow everything ended up (unfunny) crack and this is the first time i've ever managed to write such a long (bad)crack fic lol congrats self...?? i have no concrete plans for the next chapter so ideas or suggestions are always welcome :) this is for korinne and nini, my favourite jinson enablers, as well as my beloved squad em, jumpy and penny and my tlist cass, nicole, qi, hannah, kathy, junie, chris, angel, sally, ashley, andrea, jess, julia, vee, lily, tanya, rei, lee, d, emily and turnering. i really want to apologize to the people whose comments i had no time to reply on tea lights (and a few other fics) - on ao3: tuans, jinyeora, thegrandoptimist, lanvlotus, Shy_Creature, Wangui, inconspicuouslyblue, PaperAirplaneClub, :^)), officialjyp, kctsudon, jooheons, meepmeeps, huangzimeow, viktimkin, jsrjjvj7synhjtj, pottyfrodo, Fuyu, alexscarlet, imane, Ilovewangpuppy, perolinha and especially on lj: zicoconutz, mangadeba, kkaeptain and jcksunnie. i felt so bad for unintentionally skipping some of my earlier comments. i don't know if any of the commenters will ever read this but if you do, thank you so much for your comments. even though i didn't reply, i read and treasured each and every one of them and they made me very happy. i really appreciate the time anyone takes or has taken to read my fics, and dropped me a lovely comment. (sorry if i missed anyone out!) and thank you for reading this too.


	2. Chapter 2

Junior had never thought that he would be relieved to see JB popping up in his vicinity, but that first night in the storeroom, there was honestly no other word that could describe his instinctive reaction. It was only his first day at work, his first day of knowing Jackson, and however unflappable and composed Junior liked to pretend to be, he was shaken up by the intensity of his feelings towards Jackson, which were doubly senseless because they hadn't even known each other for twenty-four hours.  
  
And looking at Jackson's disrobing eyes, his sleazy, easy grin, Junior knew with every atom of his body that if he believed for an instant that Jackson wouldn't break his heart if he let him, he would be a fool.  
  
So he tried his utmost not to weaken, putting up all his walls and hiding his trembling heart behind sharp and provocative words. It was all he knew how to do to protect himself, but even these defenses were crumbling quickly, and Junior sensed he needed to escape, at least for today, to regroup and devise a battle plan. Fast.  
  
So when added to his wholly unexpected entrance, JB threw a curveball by stoutly chastising Jackson and informing him of Junior's feigned amnesia, he felt a surprising pang of guilt. Mostly due to JB's gullibility. No matter how good Junior's acting was, he had to suspect something was up if he wasn't a total pea-brain.  
  
Still, he had stood up for Junior, albeit giving Jackson a nosebleed in the process (which looked like it actually hurt, but Junior was too busy wallowing in his own self-pity and fluster to dwell on it for long).  
  
At the same time, accompanying his feelings of relief, gratitude and guilt, Junior was confused to feel the slightest twinge of annoyance. Yes, he had been scared out of his wits when Jackson bodily hauled him into the storeroom, looking pissed, and backed him into a corner but he had also been intrigued, his heart starting to pound faster at the way Jackson's eyes darkened dizzyingly when he was mad. And now, he couldn't help wondering (a purely scientific curiosity, for the record) what Jackson would have said or done had JB not burst in at the most crucial moment like cockblocking was an Olympic sport.  
  
That night, he tossed and turned in his new bed, one thin wall away from JB's (this wasn't a metaphor, he could actually hear JB's unattractive snores), between his and the slightly more spacious room Youngjae and Bambam shared. It had only been a day but Junior had already lost count of the number of times he had heard the fateful story of their first meeting a year ago, gleefully narrated by the two touchingly enthusiastic boys who never seemed to tire of reliving and even reenacting it, when Youngjae had pushed open the room door only to be confronted by the "traumatizing" sight of Bambam flashing his family jewels and crowing like Tarzan. Bambam had pretended to blush at this part, but his eyes danced with unrepentant mischief and Youngjae's expression frankly looked more delighted than traumatized, but that was just Junior.  
  
Although there were a few other rooms on the second floor of the dormitory (the first floor being occupied by a group of factory workers and the third by broke college students who couldn't afford to rent apartments of their own or stay at their university's dorm; the only thing all the occupants of the building had in common was that everyone was from some part of Asia), for some unknowable reason Bambam and Youngjae seemed to prefer rooming together in their bunk bed.  
  
"I could never wake up for work on time if Youngjae's morning farts didn't wake me," he explained to Junior sheepishly, then cupping his hand to Junior's ear and continuing sotto voce, "and by wake me, I meant with their smell." as Youngjae sputtered speechlessly, his face turning as red as an erupting volcano as he glared at Bambam. "I could never fall asleep if I don't faint from horror every night listening to Bambam jerk off under his blanket," he retaliated truimphantly, booming the words like a foghorn.  
  
"WHAT??? YOU KNEW???" Bambam looked positively thunderstruck, like his world had just collapsed. He stood up abruptly, his chair scraping across the floor with a dramatic clatter, and fled the room with his face white and ears and eyes red, chin trembling dangerously. Youngjae looked a little unsure as the rest of them sunk into an awkward silence. "Er... was I too blunt?" he mumbled, and groaned when no one replied.  
  
  
  
Thinking about the pair of bizarre yet irresistibly adorable dongsaengs helped distract Junior a little from his flurried and fragmented thoughts of Jackson. He resisted the overwhelming urge to playback every single moment they had shared, every single word Jackson had said to him today like a movie in his head, relishing them and dissecting all their underlying meanings. That would be way too obsessive. He had to have some degree of self-control.  
  
So instead, he forced himself to stay on the cold hard ground of reality, recalling bitter memories of past crushes he had had on guys he was sure was interested in him, only to be crushed when they introduced him to their girlfriends as their _best friend, Junior_.  
  
Being friendzoned: it was the reason behind most of the times he had awoken sprawled on some chilly, grimy corner of the sidewalk or pavement, in the unsparingly clear light of morning with a hangover the size of Antarctica. He didn't have a drinking problem, technically -- it was just that sometimes, drinking was the only way to forget, for a moment, that he was unwanted and lonely and unloved in a country far away from home.  
  
And, okay, he kind of had a terribly low alcohol tolerance. Almost nonexistent.  
  
Coupled with the all-consuming ache in his four limbs that had abruptly set in, making him painfully aware of parts of his body he has never thought of before, he finally managed to fall asleep from sheer first-day-of-work fatigue in the small hours of dawn.  
  
  
  
He was woken by the unmistakable, mystifying smell of medicinal patches. The kind his grandma used to ask him to help her apply to her back after a day of working in the fields, back in Busan. He would give her an additional massage and a hot-water-bath for her swollen feet, because she doted on him ridiculously and he was just an awesomely filial grandson that way.  
  
The pungent, herbal odour inspired in him a fierce ache that took his breath away and his eyes flew open to see Yugyeom hovering over him, his eyes conscientious as he sat on the edge of Junior's bed and thoughtfully pasted the patches clumsily on his biceps and calves. His sleeves had been rolled up and his blankets pulled down, and Junior felt exposed and slightly uncomfortable but grateful, because truthfully this was exactly what he needed, the aches in his limbs having intensified overnight and now spreading through his whole body with an accompanying dull soreness.  
  
"Thanks... Yugyeom-ah," he mumbled groggily, sitting up and yawning. He stretched his arms tentatively, and Yugyeom smiled in understanding sympathy.  
  
"You're welcome, hyung. My mother swears by these, so don't worry. They'll work their magic in awhile." He winked.  
  
The door flew unceremoniously open without a knock and Bambam and Youngjae burst in, already chipper and sunny so early in the morning. "Junior-hyung!" they yelled in unison, in the same wheedling voice. "Let's go eat breakfast~"  
  
Junior couldn't help laughing, his heart leaping in uncontainable excitement that gave him a shot of strength as he jumped out of bed too and let them usher him to the communal toilet at the end of the hall to brush his teeth.  
  
  
  
Apparently, there was a small, rather shabby dining hall in the dormitory, shared by all three floors, beside the courtyard. It used to be a canteen, years ago, as Youngjae and Bambam took turns chattering to explain to him, so the old stalls were still there, boarded up with their shutters pulled down, but their signs still proclaiming the cuisine they had sold, veiled by a layer of fine dust.  
  
There was a barely serviceable kitchen area with the basic stoves, pots, pans and utensils and Junior could see JB among a cluster of guys from the other floors, ladling out a scoop of broth from the industrial-sized, aged iron pot over a simmering low flame.  
  
"Is it century egg porridge today?" Bambam trilled excitably, and JB looked up and nodded, a smile creeping onto his face. Bambam whooped as if he'd won the lotto, and quickly grabbed a tray and loaded it with four chipped porcelain bowls. He proceeded to carefully ladle an equal amount of porridge filled generously with ingredients like fish and meatballs and spring onions into them.  
  
When he delivered the tray ceremoniously to the table they had settled down at, at the end of the canteen, everyone leaned forward to inhale appreciatively. JB was already wolfing down his own bowl, flapping his hand as he scorched his tongue but seeming too hungry to eat slowly, his cheeks red with the rising steam.  
  
Youngjae looked blissful too, as if he could want nothing more in life. "Yixuan-hyung must have cooked today," he said knowingly. He turned to Junior and added helpfully, "He's the resident _umma_ of the factory workers, and they don't call him that for nothing."  
  
At the mention of his name, a young man sitting at a nearby table with four other boys about their age looked over and saluted Youngjae with a fond smile. "Enjoy the food and eat more, boys!" he called over generously.  
  
"Hey, who's that?" a skinny boy with jet-black hair who looked like the youngest piped up, gazing at Junior with unabashed curiosity, and Junior blushed and waved nervously.  
  
"Do you guys have a newbie?" Another red-haired guy called over, smiling broadly, and a teenage-looking boy whose eye-smile resembled Youngjae's returned his friendly wave.  
  
"Yes! This is Junior-hyung!" Bambam and Youngjae all but shouted, so proud of Junior merely a day after meeting him that his eyes prickled with tears. Yugyeom paused his impassioned gobbling to introduce helpfully, "That's Yibo, Seungyoun and Sungjoo-hyung."  
  
"Where's Wenhan?" JB called back, looking confused, and Sungjoo chuckled smugly. "He's on cleaning duty today."  
  
"Oh my god, are you guys taking advantage of him again?" Bambam moaned exaggeratedly, but the four boys only shrugged in unconcern and smirked as they returned to their conversation. Later, Junior noticed Sungjoo getting up discreetly and slipping away in the direction of the kitchen though. He was pleased to find that the guys from the other floors seemed so friendly too and looked forward to getting to know them better.  
  
When Yugyeom asked if he wanted seconds, he couldn't say no because the porridge really was addictingly delicious, especially when Seungyoun dropped off their bottles of soya sauce and pepper at their table as the other four boys sauntered out of the canteen on their way to work. Lightly doused and flavoured with the spice and salty, light brown sauce only enhanced the natural, fresh taste of the ingredients and the soup which warmed his chest when he slurped it straight from the bowl. Maybe he could cook something in return for the others sometime; he wasn't an especially skilled cook but he had dishes he was decent at.  
  
  
  
Throughout the trip to the bakery, Junior couldn't help but notice that JB was keeping his distance from him. Sure, in the short time they had known each other so far he had already sensed that JB was the cold, chic, silent type, but he seemed particularly determined to stay out of Junior's way today, when the previous day he had been, if not generous, warm-hearted and thoughtful in his own contrary way.  
  
He didn't have long to dwell on the issue though, because soon they were nearing the bakery, waiting at the traffic light to cross the junction and he could see across the street, through the floor-length, sparklingly transparent glass windows, Jackson bending over the bar counter and scrubbing a cloth across its length.  
  
When he wasn't sparring verbally with Junior, his eyes weren't glinting with sarcasm or mockery. They were serious and Junior felt like he was seeing another, more intimate side of him. It made him look away quickly and start slightly when Youngjae grabbed his hand to lead him across the street.  
  
But when they entered through the front door, the wind chimes hanging from the top clinking cheerfully, that unsettling glint reentered Jackson's eyes immediately as they moved to rest on Junior and lingered.  
  
Junior swallowed and tugged uneasily at the hem of his stained uniform shirt, lowering his eyes and looking away. He felt suddenly, absurdly shy, far from the feisty, sharp-tongued guy who had bantered with Jackson unselfconsciously yesterday.  
  
"Hey! I told you guys to enter by the back door!" he heard Jackson's voice, sounding annoyed, but he didn't dare to look up as he shuffled past to stow his bag in the staff area, insert his punch card into the machine to clock in for work (he was four minutes early, thankfully), and try to put on his apron.  
  
He heard the clatter of Bambam, Youngjae and Yugyeom heading noisily for the kitchen, sounding excited to help Momo and Tzuyu bring out the platters of the staff meal they had just finished cooking, and already hungry despite their feast merely a half hour ago.  
  
He jumped as suddenly, hands closed around his from behind, which were struggling to knot the apron, still unfamiliar and unwieldy as it was only his second time wearing it.  
  
"Relax," Jackson's low voice flowed into his ear, his hands closing firmly and confidently over Junior's. "It's just me."  
  
He sounded amused at Junior's fluster, and this time Junior did blush, cursing inwardly at how obvious he was being. He only felt more embarrassed when Jackson didn't tease him about it, but merely lifted the apron over Junior's head, untangling the straps and arranging them in a cross before lowering it carefully over his shoulders again.  
  
"Turn around," he said mildly, and steered Junior's back to face him as deftly knotted the strings into a butterfly knot. "Your waist is so narrow," he chuckled, and Junior felt offended.  
  
"My proportions are perfect, thank you. Maybe you're the one who's unproportional."  
  
"Did you just call me fat?" Jackson looked uncertain, and Junior instantly felt bad, even though he could tell Jackson was teasing him. Truth was, he could tell Jackson had an impressively, enviably and incredibly buff body, even from the outside of his shirt. It made his throat dry for reasons he couldn't place, so he stammered, "No comment," and shrugged Jackson's hands off. Jackson was looking at him again, with that thoughtful half-smile on his face, like he knew something Junior didn't. It was maddening.  
  
"So," Jackson hoisted himself up onto the counter, with sheer upper body strength and a (shockingly sexy) grunt, then ran a careless hand through his blond hair, messing it up stylishly. "Are you done with memorizing the menu? Because I'm gonna give you a pop quiz, right now."  
  
After a few minutes of him gaping speechlessly in a mild panic, Jackson's twitching lip gave way to full-blown guffaws. "You should've seen your face!" he gasped, clutching his stomach. "I'm just kidding, dumbo."  
  
Junior bristled reflexively at the nickname, although he was dimly aware he wasn't being fair. There was no way Jackson would know about the nickname Junior's classmates had called him back in kindergarten, before he grew into his big ears and found the most appropriate hairstyle to complement and disguise their protuberance.  
  
To hide his annoyance, he snapped, "Come at me." Jackson seemed surprised by the challenging tone in his voice and stopped laughing.  
  
"Okay," he drawled slowly, a glimmer of interest entering his eyes as he picked up a menu and flipped it open with anticipation. "What's the..."  
  
Five questions later, Jackson was the one gaping at him, forgetting to continue his inquisition. Junior tried not to look too smug.  
  
"Are you cheating?" Jackson yelped, flipping the menu suspiciously over as if the answers might be written on the back. Junior shook his head, pressing his lips together to keep from smiling.  
  
"Then how did you... in one night..."  
  
Junior shrugs, trying to look careless. "I just read over them one time yesterday, and remembered it. Your questions aren't that hard." He couldn't resist scoffing a little.  
  
"Wait..." Jackson narrowed his eyes disbelievingly. "Are you actually like... smart?" He enunciated the word smart as if he was saying _an alien_.  
  
Junior blushed defensively. Somehow, admitting to Jackson that he had majored in English Literature at Seoul University seemed less like stating a fact and more like boasting.  
  
Jackson was looking at him with a new awe in his eyes, a flickering light as if this sparked his interest more. "Why does this make you even hotter?" Junior heard him mutter as he raked a frustrated hand through his hair, but he must have misheard. There was no way Jackson could have said that, and no way he was getting his hopes up foolishly again.  
  
Still, he couldn't help squirming in glee as Jackson informed Mark with that new awe still in his voice that Junior had passed the menu quiz with flying colours. Mark looked proud and unsurprised.  
  
"Good job, Junior," he said undemonstratively but warmly as he clapped Junior's back and Junior let out a nervous, starstruck giggle. "Keep it up."  
  
The proud smile faded from Jackson's face and he looked annoyed again in yet another mercurial mood swing. Junior stopped himself from snidely enquiring if it was his time of the month.  
  
He couldn't help noticing JB glaring at him with a strange mixture of irritation and bewilderment as well. It was like the elephant in the room and Junior sighed, feeling like he should see the glass as half-full, the silver lining in the cloud et cetera, and be grateful that JB was the only person in the bakery more obvious than him.  
  
  
  
After the opening procedures and briefing, they were hit by the typical morning wave of customers, and he and Tzuyu and Youngjae were whizzing past one another so quickly they were blurs of motion as they cultivated a carefully-maintained tandem of serving, clearing and bussing tables without bumping into each other. Bambam was half in the kitchen and half out, occasionally kindheartedly disappearing into the billowing clouds of steam of multiple saucepans on the stove spattering oil to help poor Yugyeom who was singlehandedly running the show out.  
  
The bar was also slammed by orders, and Jackson didn't spare him a glance as he thumped long-stemmed glasses of fruit mocktails and steaming cups of chamomile and peppermint tea onto the collection counter with barely a clatter, miraculously managing to avoid spilling even a single drop. Even without being told, Junior could guess this was an expert ease only borne by long months of practice.  
  
The cafe area was almost filled to full capacity, the murmur of animated conversation and people's pleased compliments and approving discussions as they enjoyed their pastries and cakes forming a symphony that would have been wonderful to the ears had he not been up to his ears in backlogged orders. Thankfully, everyone was in a placid mood at this time of the day and the customers were mercifully patient and understanding. His million-dollar smile that he only bestowed on royalty (as the famous saying went, customers were king) did nothing to hurt it.  
  
The previous night, when they had drawn lots and Jackson had turned out to be the one chosen to break the news of Mina's departure to Mark, he had felt like he had dodged a bullet. Judging from the looks on the rest of the staff's face, they all felt the same. The unsaid but unanimous opinion was that Jackson was the best choice for this duty, because he knew how to handle Mark best and was the one out of all of them least likely to melt into a puddle of verboten goo at the sight of Mark's puppy-with-his-tail-stepped-on eyes.  
  
(Yugyeom seemed to have recovered from his heartbreak remarkably fast, all smiles once again and flirtatiously whisking dirty plates from Tzuyu like a gentleman as she huffed but hid a shy smile behind her hair. They would realize why when Mina swanned into the shop again that evening, but decked not in her work attire but carats of glittering jewels and a haute couture royal blue jumpsuit, looking like a newly-crowned princess as Sana proudly and possessively beamed at her from where she was draped over her arm like a pashmina shawl.  
  
"She saw my text!" Yugyeom whispered to Junior, looking thrilled. "I thought she wouldn't come." His excitement was dampened by Tzuyu looking vengeful as she slid a tower of dirty plates into his unprepared arms and flounced away without looking back.  
  
Mina showed that despite no longer being an employee of the bakery, her loyalty remained unchanged, by ordering all the leftover cakes and daintily taking bites from each of them. Sana seemed to be reluctant to eat after six, watching her diet, but was effortlessly coaxed into taking bites from Mina's fork with her _aegyo_.)  
  
  
  
But right now, all that hadn't happened yet; it was still late afternoon and the morning shift was winding down, the usual languor seeming to hit everybody at the same time again. When Junior whispered to Yugyeom that he was going to take a five-minute bathroom break and slipped to the staff area behind the rear of the kitchen to splash water on his face, he passed the ajar back door and slowed his footsteps.  
  
When he peered out meekly, he caught sight of Jackson's side profile, leaning against the wall and smoking a quick and dirty cigarette, his eyes downcast and beat-up sneakers scuffing against the granite ground.  
  
He must have stared for too long because Jackson seemed to sense his gaze, abruptly raising his head to look straight at Junior. His eyes were surprised and wide with guilt. The drinks orders were coming slower now, but still pretty behind on schedule.  
  
"I know, I know," he muttered, tossing his cigarette on the ground and grinding it out sloppily with the heel of his shoe. "I'm coming."  
  
He probably assumed Junior had come to hurry him about the orders, and Junior found himself tongue-tied, not correcting his misunderstanding.  
  
"Just needed a smoke and couldn't wait," Jackson brushed past him and explained further when he didn't reply, leaving Junior slightly stunned as he stared after Jackson's quickly retreating back and his casual, graceful lope back to the bar. He hadn't seen Jackson smoking before and needless to say, he looked unbelievably hot and bad-boyish with a cigarette dangling from his lips, indescribably gorgeous; but oddly Junior found himself wondering more about why Jackson had been so obviously antsy he needed a smoke so urgently when they were backed up with orders.  
  
Could it be... because of _him_? The thought swirled into his mind like a tendril of smoke, like the lingering trace of Jackson's cigarettes in the air, intangible and barely there, before it disappeared just as quickly. That would be a stretch, and way too egoistic, even for him. He laughed nervously. It was only the second day they met and he was already attributing feelings more intense than possible to someone who was unabashedly and unapologetically, a playboy.  
  
He tore his eyes from Jackson's crumpled and crushed cigarette butt, on the ground, the embers flickering to their slow death, and headed back into the cafe too, his heart hammering hollowly.  
  
Finally, finally, the last customer had been ushered out, politely bowed after; the last bill had been paid, the last credit card swiped and exclusive member card (that entitled customers to a free pastry when they got ten stamps) presented; the last table had been wiped and the last chair pushed neatly into place. Almost everyone crashed into some chair or other at random, not caring about their image as they halfheartedly pretended to be swiping at some crumbs with a cloth or piling used napkins into a tray. Even just a single shift felt like an entire battle won and conquered, and Junior wondered if this sense of triumph and accomplishment would fade with novelty and time.  
  
He vaguely registered that JB had steadily kept out of his path when he darted into the kitchen to hand Momo dishes for the dishwasher, always seeming to be busy with some task or another. Not that he wanted to talk to JB, he had had enough of squabbling with him the previous day. The air just felt mildly frigid, was all.  
  
Despite Jackson introducing himself as the bartender the previous day, Junior had gathered that he was more of a barista. Not that that was any less attractive. (God, he needed to stop thinking everything Jackson did was attractive. It was pathetic.) Anyway, being totally impartial, Junior needed to admit that Jackson was the hottest barista he had ever seen.  
  
With the crowds gone, he could have the luxury and leisure of finally being able to observe Jackson uninterrupted in his natural habitat, seeming completely at home even in the cramped and cluttered bar area, juggling a few shakers and washing them with a flick of his hand beneath the running faucet and sliding them upside down onto the rack in one swift movement. He did everything with the same sloppy grace that said simultaneously, "I could care less," and "I'm serious about my job." It was mesmerizing. Junior wondered if he kissed that way too... Wait, where the hell did that come from?  
  
After Jackson had more or less finished washing up all the dirty glasses and cups piled up at the end of the counter (Junior hovering by the bar and pretending to wipe it while trying and failing to muster the courage to ask if he needed some help), he dissected the espresso machine as well and studiously polished all the parts, before reassembling them. He seemed in his own world, humming a little under his breath, totally at ease and in his element as he did all these menial tasks. But for some reason, Junior was spellbound by this unremarkable and banal view.  
  
Jackson didn't join the rest of the crew for the staff meal after he was done, instead continuing to tinker with the various bottles of syrups lined up on the bartop, of varying shades of amber, bourbon, neon orange, red, blue and lime green. He hit a few buttons on the espresso machine and tipped the shot that flowed out into one of those minute ceramic or porcelain teacups that when Junior had drank from other coffee joints before, always seemed miserly for their exorbitant cost and never enough to quench his thirst. He had never imagined he would be serving these exact same cups one day. Life really had unexpected turns, he thought with a wry smile to himself, still watching quietly.  
  
Jackson happened to look up then, and seemed surprised to catch him watching. Despite himself, Junior blushed again. But this time, for the first time, Jackson seemed disconcerted as well, his ears colouring a telling shade of pink that made Junior's heart skip a beat. So even Jackson blushed too. It was somehow... insanely adorable.  
  
Suddenly, Jackson seemed all thumbs, his grace and poise dissolving into fluster as he clumsily knocked over a half-full glass by his elbow and cursed softly as he bent to pick it up. Thankfully, it contained only water and was made of plastic and so didn't shatter, but Junior didn't know what to do as he waited for Jackson to retrieve the cup and dump it in the sink, returning to the drink he was preparing, though his fingers still seemed to retain a faint tremor.  
  
"What are you making?" he blurted out quickly, a random and thoughtless question to distract both of them from the abrupt awkward tension clouding the air. Jackson seemed relieved for his aid as he replied equally quickly, "A snowflake latte. It's our signature drink. You want to try?"  
  
_Snowflake?_ Junior was about to ask, curiosity piqued, but his question was answered in a second as Jackson nimbly and carefully poured the frothy white foam in a pattern as thin and delicate as gossamer over the surface of the caramel brown coffee. A pattern of a detailed snowflake that was in fact, very beautiful.  
  
Junior was impressed, as he saw Jackson intended and hoped him to be when he looked up at his mischievously shining eyes.  
  
"Go ahead," Jackson gestured airily to the latte, leaning forward on his elbows as if eager for Junior's verdict on the beverage.  
  
"I..." Junior stammered shyly, feeling floored and touched. "It's okay, I don't have to taste it. Who were you making it for anyway?"  
  
A moment of silence passed, before Jackson looked up to meet his eyes. He was smiling, but his eyes were serious, tentative even. "You," he said softly, and Junior felt like a rug had been pulled out from beneath his feet.  
  
Jackson got off his elbows and straightened up, clearing his throat. "Wait!" he babbled brightly, "I know exactly the cake to go with this."  
  
In a flash, he had disappeared over behind the glass case of drastically diminished but still boasting-a-varied-selection cakes and pastries, and unhesitatingly slid open the frosted door, serving himself a slice with a flat ladle. Junior continued gawping with eloquent speechlessness as he placed it with a flourish on the counter before him.  
  
"We always recommend customers to order this cake with this drink," he explained, gesturing at the cake which Junior had identified as the chocolate lava cake, or according to its official, fanciful name, the _Warm Valrhona Chocolate Melting Lava Cake_. Unsurprisingly, all their food names were a similarly fancy mouthful and some even had random French words which Junior had struggled to pronounce accurately.  
  
Jackson continued his sales pitch while whisking the plated cake in and out of the oven to melt the insides, seeming to forget Junior wasn't a customer he had to impress. "Because this drink is more bitter than sweet, it needs a more rich and sweet cake to compliment it."  
  
"B-but... we're not allowed to eat the cakes, right?" Junior interrupted him, hesitantly sneaking a glance at the staff table where Mark was sitting beside JB and eating lunch. Jackson laughed, unperturbed and flippant. His eyes seemed to be laughing at Junior too, like he had said something cute. "Chill, no one will miss it, and Mark lets me get away with anything anyway.  
  
"Hurry," Jackson urged him, "Before it gets cold."  
  
Junior snapped into action and gingerly forked a bite of the cake, which melted blissfully in his mouth in a burst of rich sweetness. But just as Jackson had said, the decadence of the cake was tempered and perfectly balanced by the delicately and imperceptibly-blended flavours of the coffee, bitterness tinged with sweetness, like dark chocolate. He finished the rest of the cake and drink much more quickly, trying to chew slowly to make the precious bites last and sip with care so as not to ruin the latte art on the top layer of foam.  
  
Jackson watched him silently, eyes oddly tender and affectionate. When Junior had tipped the last drop down his throat and exhaled with satisfaction, feeling a new respect for Jackson's "bartending" skills (though he would never profess it verbally), Jackson laughed again. Junior seemed to amuse him frequently and he felt irritatingly like a pet clown.  
  
But before he could snap something dry and witty, Jackson had reached out, taking him by surprise as he smoothly swiped his thumb over Junior's upper lip, then lifted it promptly to his own mouth and wrapped his lips around it, sucking. Junior stared, his eyes fixated paralyzingly on Jackson's plump, moist and red lips, sucking sensually on his thumb like he just knew Junior was imagining it was his dick.  
  
He pressed his knees together, thigh muscles tightening as he shifted closer to the wall of the bar and hoped his apron was sufficient to cover the sudden stiffness in his crotch.  
  
Jackson slid his thumb out of his mouth, then smirked at Junior, his eyes lingering intensely on the heat spreading over his cheekbones and making his face blotchy. "You had a foam mustache," he explained innocently.  
  
Junior thought of Jackson's rough, coarse hands, surprisingly delicate as he poured out a liquid snowflake onto the diaphanous, evanescent surface of the tiny cup of coffee; the seriousness of his eyes with no trace of laughter as he concentrated. That same hand brushing over his upper lip, with the same gentleness that Junior couldn't even fathom he was capable of. They had known each other for barely two days, but one thing was clear: Jackson made his head spin.  
  
  
  
And so a week slipped past much the same way, the days never quite varying from one to the other, and yet each feeling unaccountably different and refreshing. Maybe it was -- besides getting more fluid and agile at his duties, and falling in unobtrusively with the rest of the crew, as if he had been here for much longer -- finding out a little bit more about Jackson with each day that passed, each unlikely, random and unplanned encounter, drawing closer and becoming something more than colleagues, like friends.  
  
Right from the start, Jackson had unsparingly showed Junior his insufferably obnoxious and arrogant douchebag side, but Junior was surprised and disquieted to discover others as well, which made him feel emotions that were not just annoyance and an urge to bicker and provoke Jackson into a petty argument. Like one afternoon after the morning shift when he was delivering the last load of dirty dishes to the dishwasher (Momo was already having her lunch and he had assured her she could leave it to him to handle), he found Jackson leaning against the wall by the noisily churning dishwasher alone, scarfing down a plate of leftover smoked salmon sandwich and chips with his usual ungracefulness.  
  
There was something somehow... unsightly about the fact that Jackson was eating customers' leftovers, the shock of it that Junior had never expected, that took him aback for a moment, unable to say anything. Then he startled into motion, moving forward awkwardly and furtively, feeling embarrassed for reasons he couldn't explain as he slid the load of dishes onto the foam-covered steel sink and started loading them into the dishwasher.  
  
"Want some?" Jackson asked him politely, mouth full.  
  
He shook his head, continuing his task, then turned around slowly and leaned against the furiously churning dishwasher again after he had started it back up again. "Should you be..." he started, and Jackson looked up blankly, shoveling the last of the food into his mouth and sliding the empty plate into the sink. "... eating that? I mean... does Mark allow us to eat the leftovers?"  
  
Jackson shrugged, looking careless as usual. It was public knowledge that if there was anyone who could bend or flout every single of Mark's rules, it would be Jackson. Even JB, as Mark's personal assistant, couldn't measure up to him in terms of unofficial rank.  
  
"They'll be thrown away anyway. It's such a waste if no one eats them."  
  
"But..." From the Abercrombie and Fitch and Guess jeans he had seen Jackson wearing (not that Junior had been staring at his ass or anything, of course not), Junior had guessed that he was pretty well-off, and he couldn't be drawing a meagre salary either, having worked in the bakery the longest out of all the staff. He didn't need to be eating leftovers.  
  
Jackson looked up at Junior's preoccupation, finally seeming to sense a little of his thoughts. He slipped his thumbs through his belt loops and cocked his head at Junior, his trademark smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, that smirk that had caused Junior to mistakenly think initially that Jackson took nothing seriously. Sometimes he still seriously considered that this might be true. "Why?" Jackson said lightly. "You find it embarrassing?"  
  
"Well... I..." Junior stuttered, the lie not sliding easily from his lips. Jackson laughed, easily, like he didn't care what Junior thought of him. But the way he bothered to explain told Junior he did.  
  
"It's just that... when I was little, my mom used to tell me at mealtimes that if I didn't finish all the food on my plate, the number of rice grains that were left would be the number of pimples that grew on my face in future. I tell you, that scared me good," he chuckled self-depreciatingly. "Also, I just don't like wastage in general. Especially of Mark's food." Junior's stomach clenched unpleasantly at Mark's name in his mouth.  
  
He would learn later on, as more time passed, that Jackson could be innocently and charmingly superstitious that way, like the one time he confided to Junior in absolute seriousness that the reason why he never wore contact lenses but instead squinted at the instruction booklet while making drinks he wasn't familiar with was because he was worried they would slide to the back of his eyeballs.  
  
Junior nearly laughed out loud then, but he stopped himself in time and solemnly nodded. After all, he believed everyone was entitled to their own superstitions and quirks. It wasn't like he didn't have his own.  
  
  
  
At the first monthly staff meeting Junior attended, the two main issues Mark addressed were namely: Mina's resignation, and the appeal form one of the staff had officially submitted, to... (no one was surprised) change the uniforms of the servers and bartender.  
  
Mark had taken Mina's resignation with surprising composure, understanding her reasons and respecting her decision, although Jackson didn't give them details of his immediate reaction when he had divulged the news to him and no one asked. However, he was one of those rare employers who unfailingly developed a strong and unbreakable bond with all his employees and subordinates, and didn't let them go with a light heart. Knowing that he was inexpressive and more so when he was feeling down, the staff were concerned about him. They were hoping to recruit Mina back to work part-time on a temporary basis, till they hired more waitresses, but Yugyeom was generally the only one who actively flooded her inbox with entreating texts.  
  
In the meantime, Mark had reshuffled the staff roster and Bambam and Yugyeom were tentatively situated in the kitchen to handle to food orders while Youngjae was posted to replace Mina's job of drinks runner, alongside Junior as runner. (Youngjae and Bambam looked less than thrilled to be tragically separated but professionally held their tongues, and hands.) Tzuyu was appointed as the morning hostess and Nayeon was sternly admonished not to leave her post again or there would be consequences.  
  
They worked hard to cover the absences and lackings, and Junior could proudly say that they got by pretty well. With everyone working together, hand in hand, even the most insurmountable obstacles seemed less daunting and impregnable.  
  
Mark's poker face held no hint of humour as he read out the second matter: Jackson's appeal to change the uniforms. "Jackson," he said patiently, "I'm sorry, but I really can't change the uniforms to --" he winced as he apparently quoted directly from the form, "-- fucking garbage bags."  
  
A muffled peal of laughter emitted from Bambam's general direction, then a squeak that sounded like someone's leg being kicked, hard. Junior didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Jackson's face looked like a constipated tomato when he hazarded a sideways glance.  
  
"I hope you understand," Mark continued with gravity. Jackson let out a (very attractive) snort of laughter, then looked surprised.  
  
"Oh, sure," he said airily, waving his hand magnanimously. "I'll think of another idea, then."  
  
Instantly, a hubbub erupted as almost everyone burst out with enthusiastic suggestions -- among them a bikini-and-thong combo, Avengers cosplay suits, potato sacks, their own plain clothes (and two piteous, quickly-drowned-out whimpers to keep the current uniform).  
  
"SILENCE!" Jackson's roar surfaced above the tumult, making all the voices quiet down. "I think you guys are forgetting something. I'm the one who submitted the appeal, remember?"  
  
There was a pregnant silence as everyone absorbed this realization in, then groaned and started complaining bitterly. Jackson looked smug, like the cat who swallowed the canary. "Well..." he preened shamelessly, "I _could_ consider your suggestions, if you asked politely..."  
  
Immediately, almost everyone was prostrate on the ground before him, kissing his feet. It was ludicrous. Of course, Junior was ignoring the general idiocy. He didn't care about his stained uniform, since he could (more or less) hide the front of his shirt with the apron.  
  
Jackson shot him a glance, seeming confused and bothered that he wasn't kissing up to him like the others. But he didn't show it, and instead cleared his throat importantly and started, "I think we can all agree that it shouldn't be overly skimpy and indecent" -- he looked pointedly at Momo and Tzuyu's tops -- "or..." -- he plucked at his own olive green apron in disgust -- "bear any resemblance to Starbucks' uniforms. It was kinda hip at first, in an obscure way, but now it's just tacky."  
  
Heads nodded fervently in agreement to the second part of his statement. Jackson smiled and clapped his hands together decisively. "I have a great idea! Why not --" he plucked the form from Mark's hands, and started sketching avidly. Junior had to grip his chair to remind himself not to join the others peering eagerly over his shoulder.  
  
When Jackson triumphantly raised the finished drawing, he gave in to his urges and stood up, leaning forward on his tiptoes to see the design. It was relievingly normal, a cream-coloured collared top with a light orange bow at the neck, and a wine-coloured apron. In actual fact, it looked pretty classy. Maybe Jackson had a potential backup career as a fashion designer.  
  
"What do you guys think?" Mark queried anxiously as he looked around doubtfully, but it was clear that almost everyone was in general agreement, with the exceptions of Tzuyu and Momo who looked mildly disgruntled. Junior thought he could imagine how they felt having to switch from the current comfortable and breezy sports-underwear like garments to stuffy collared ones. But Jackson firmly shot down their halfhearted protests by huffing dismissively, "No! The only reason you girls were even wearing something so inappropriate was that we stupidly decided to go for the gimmicky flower boy and girl concept at the beginning to attract business out of desperation, but now that we have established a reputation as a Michelin-starred eatery, we have the responsibility to maintain it with _uniformity_ and _professionalism_." He took a deep breath at the end of his long and impressive speech.  
  
JB spoke up for the first time, casually picking a bit of lint off his (to-be-unchanged) chef's white robes. "Are you sure you don't just have a fetish for bow ties?"  
  
Jackson choked on his own spit, shooting a strangled, anguished look at Junior as he suffered.  
  
  
  


x

  
  
  
With every successive day that passed since Junior had started work at the patisserie, JB had grown more and more convinced of the dreadful suspicion that Junior was falling in love with him. He had even gone so far as to compile a list of evidences.  
  
Evidence #1: Junior gazed at him with silent, plaintive puppy-dog eyes whenever they crossed paths, like he was mournful and devastated JB was practically ignoring him. To give a clearer picture, it was a look similar to the butchered-cow, knight-on-white-horse, Prince-Charming one. Except worse.  
  
Evidence #2: A few days after he moved into the room next to JB, Junior had informed him politely, looking uncomfortable, "Sorry if this is news to you, hyung, but you snore. Could you keep it down a little at night? It... um... kinda bothers me."  
  
JB had nearly gasped with scandal and horror there and then, and confronted Junior outright. _Aha!_ He thought to himself triumphantly, talking to the Junior-in-his-head. _Caught you_. Junior had as much as admitted outright that he eavesdropped on JB _the entire night_. Also, he said that JB _bothered_ him. If that wasn't a love confession, JB didn't know what was.  
  
Evidence #3: Junior had started wearing cologne, and JB knew -- he just knew -- it was an attempt to attract him. Sadly, JB was as attracted to him as the similar poles of two magnets would be to each other. The problem was, how to break this gently to Junior?  
  
JB lay awake a few nights pondering this dilemma (also trying to prove that he did not snore, thank you very much) He sighed gustily. He was way too kind for his own good. Others would have just rejected him bluntly.  
  
  
  
After three sleepless nights, JB finally chanced upon the perfect solution. That was it! Why hadn't it occured to him earlier? Junior had started falling in love with him at first sight from the day they met, not only because of his dashing good looks, but also because he thought JB was the one who had rescued him. In truth, JB had been pretty ambivalent as Jackson tirelessly worked to convince Mark that the lifeless body he had discovered at the Dumpster was not a shady criminal but someone worth saving.  
  
And JB had only gone along with Jackson to help, because Mark asked him to.  
  
It was a brilliant plan. He would shatter Junior's flawless ideal of him by revealing the truth, and Junior's illusions would be dissolved. From then on, JB would have nothing to worry about. (Well, he would still be devastatingly good-looking, but he could hardly do anything about that, could he.)  
  
So, the next time he spied Junior lurking moonily around the kitchen and bar area, he took his hand abruptly and dragged him away, out of the back door into the alley.  
  
Junior looked startled, pulling his arm away and rubbing his wrist while staring at JB like he had gone bonkers. "What's wrong?" His face was flushed, and JB had the sinking suspicion his worst fears were confirmed.  
  
He cleared his throat; he had to do this right. "Well..." he began delicately, with praiseworthy tact and subtlety, "I just thought you should know something."  
  
"What?" Junior regarded him doubtfully. He glanced at the back door, probably hoping no one would arrive to interrupt their romantic moment.  
  
Shuddering, JB quickly plowed on. "Actually, the person who found you at the Dumpster wasn't me."  
  
Now, he had Junior's full attention. JB imagined he looked devastated at the revelation of this fact.  
  
"What do you mean?" Junior breathed. "Who was it then?"  
  
JB drew in a breath, pausing to lengthen the suspense. "Jackson," he said, and watched the word land right between Junior's shoulder blades, an arrow straight to his chest.  
  
He shifted his feet. "I know you're surprised... I'm sorry. I never meant to make you misunderstand."  
  
He prepared himself to end this unfortunate, unreciprocated, one-sided infatuation, when Junior forestalled him, gripping his shoulders tightly with both his hands.  
  
"What do you mean?" he repeated hoarsely. "What did Jackson do?"  
  
JB flailed, thrown and bewildered. "Well, he... he... initially, Mark and I were hesitant to take you in or offer you help, because, you know, we didn't actually know you," he admitted guiltily, eyes imploring Junior not to bear a grudge. "But Jackson insisted. He said that no matter what, we couldn't just leave you lying there. He said that you looked harmless as a lamb and there was no way you would try anything. That convinced Mark." He shrugged, relieved to unload this confidance from his shoulders.  
  
Junior staggered back, looking shell-shocked. JB felt sympathy for him. It must feel horrible to have his flaw-free image of JB tarnished, but Junior seemed to be overreacting a little.  
  
Before JB could end the awkward conversation with his planned brotherly and strictly platonic pat on the back, Junior had spun on his heel and burst back through the door, which was squeaking on its hinges in his wake. JB stared after him, dumbfounded and feeling slightly deflated and anticlimactic.  
  
  
  
Maybe that was the reason why later on, when they were walking back to the dormitory in a group of five, the three maknaes with their inexhaustible spring of energy gamboling ahead of them and not bothering to involve the two oldies in their games, he blurted out, "So you don't have any more feelings for me, right?"  
  
As soon as the words left his mouth, sounding foolish and unbearably narcissistic in the cool night air, he regretted them. Couldn't he just leave well enough alone? But he told himself staunchly that he had to get things clear, make a clean break or he wouldn't be able to move on either.  
  
"Uh... what?" Junior had turned to look at him, and was staring intently at him now, frowning slightly. There was a heavy pause. "You think I... have feelings for you?"  
  
The disbelief and incredulity in Junior's voice frankly rankled, when there were so many irrefutable evidences that Junior was in love with him. He puffed his chest out defensively. "Yes, don't try to deny it." His voice wavered, making him sound ridiculously like the one who had a ditzy crush here.  
  
"JB," Junior said slowly, as if selecting his words carefully to make a mentally-impaired person understand, "I'm not sure what I did to make you misunderstand, but I... do not have feelings for you. At all." He said the last two words empathically, and they felt preposterously like arrows to JB's heart. He didn't have to be so blunt, that ingrate. As if JB was the most uneligible prospect in the universe.  
  
"What about..." his voice faltered, but he ploughed on blindly, "What about the way you look at me?" he babbled accusatorily. "And you said you listen to me at night... and you started wearing cologne..."  
  
At his last words, Junior looked stricken, bringing his arm up to sniff at his armpits. "Shit," he sounded panicky. "Is it that obvious?"  
  
"Uh, yeah," JB retorted sadistically, wanting to fluster Junior equally. "Do you use one bottle a day or... because --" he wrinkled his nose.  
  
Junior looked on the verge of tears, making him relent just a little.  
  
As they trudged forward wordlessly, Junior continued looking disconsolate, dragging his feet and staring at the ground. "If you must know," Junior muttered eventually, "I _was_ looking at you that way out of gratitude at first, because duh, you saved me, and then it was because you were acting weirdly --" he rolled his eyes to punctuate the statement, "I put on the cologne because of someone else, _not you_ , and I hate to break it to you, but you do snore. Badly," he said baldly, seeming to relish the way JB winced.  
  
"Someone else?" he repeated in uncomprehension, then the pieces fell together. "Wait, you like --"  
  
"Hold up," Junior's voice cut him off sharply, "Is that _why_ you were avoiding me? Because you thought I was in love with you?" His voice had risen to an alarmingly shrill pitch, and by now JB was deep red with mortification.  
  
"No, I, I --"  
  
"Oh my god," Junior emitted a low moan. "I can't fucking believe this."  
  
After a moment, he turned back to JB again, this time with a frightening smirk on his face. JB gulped.  
  
"I'm sorry, JB," Junior said casually, with elaborate poignancy, "But you're not really my type."  
  
It would take JB weeks to discover that what Junior really meant by this statement was, _I'll never let you live this down_.  
  
  
  
When JB had first applied for the post of Mark's sous pastry chef, two years ago, he had received a call informing him he had been shortlisted to come for a second interview. His qualifications were satisfactory and met the requirements, but he had to pass another, practical test to be fully eligible for the job.  
  
Predictably, JB spent numerous sleepless nights tossing and turning trying to figure out what this secondary practical test would be. Would Mark command him to replicate to minute accuracy a batch of the choux cream puffs he had become famous for, or any other signature pastries from his bakery? Day after day, JB practiced his imitations, and at night, he racked his brains thinking of how he could possibly be more prepared for this examination.  
  
When he arrived at the bakery on the big day, shaking in his boots, though, and was greeted by Jackson and admitted into Mark's inner sanctum, it exceeded any of his wildest expectations to be confronted with the task of baking a loaf of white bread.  
  
"My theory is that in baking, the foundations and basics are very important," Mark explained, smiling disarmingly. "Before you attempt any more challenging or difficult creations, I would like to taste a loaf of white bread baked by you."  
  
JB was completely floored. How many years had it been, since he had last baked a loaf of simple, unremarkable plain white bread? Without any flavourings or ingredients or any other added flourishes or touches to make it shine or snatch attention, it was something that felt bare, too drab and unsophisticated to exude confidence.  
  
And JB realized that that was the challenge -- to make something that was by nature uninteresting, tasty and unique and delicious. He thought back to the days when he was a child, before he had known of the multitude of flavourings he could add -- a dizzying array of peanut butter, butter, marmalade, strawberry jam, chocolate spread -- when he had just eaten plain white bread by the loaf, stuffing slice by slice into his mouth and tearing at it eagerly with his teeth. That unadulterated, uncomplicated taste: he hadn't known it was the most difficult in the world to achieve.  
  
Now, he closed his eyes and recalled, tried to summon to the surface of his mind that irreplaceable taste, that texture, that purity.  
  
When he opened his eyes, Mark was looking at him knowingly, like he was clairvoyant, like he could see into the future to thirty minutes later when JB would proudly but apprehensively lift a tray out of the oven with care, taking off his gloves to slice the loaf of perfectly-browned bread as Mark watched quietly, expectantly. Like he could already taste the flavour of JB's bread on his tongue, a starchy sweet softness that delighted and exhilarated Mark's tastebuds, that made him suddenly ravenous as he snatched the knife from JB and sliced the rest of the loaf, devouring it all.  
  
  
  
The day after the tragic plan gone wrong, JB, naturally, hadn't completely recovered yet. He was still licking his wounds, still feeling slightly sore and much more humiliated about the fact that he had been so hideously mistaken and Junior had had zero romantic feelings for him at all. It was a big blow to his inner goddess. Junior was _not_ helping by rubbing it in about twenty-four times a day, on average once an hour.  
  
So the next day, he ended up sloping around the kitchen listlessly, bumbling with the simplest measurements, his usual precision he so prided himself on thrown out of whack. He added the salt to the chocolate fudge cake and the sugar to the sugar-free, gluten-free, lactose-free cake someone had ordered for a vegetarian party. Mark had to remake everything from scratch.  
  
"Is something wrong, JB?" Mark finally asked him, and he started, blinking and nearly toppling a jar of cupcake decorations.  
  
"W-what?" he stammered guiltily, nervously. "No, why?"  
  
"I don't know," Mark replied casually, discreetly moving the glass jar away from his radius. "You just seem a bit... dejected."  
  
"Of course not! I'm not dejected at all that Junior said I'm not his type!" he babbled loudly, without thinking, then groaned almost immediately.  
  
There was an excruciating silence as Mark took his hand off the jar lid and focused his gaze on JB, intently.  
  
"Junior said you're not his type?" he repeated.  
  
"No!" JB flushed heatedly, thrashing inwardly at how his dumbass self had blurted out the whole mortifying secret.  
  
"And that's what's upsetting you?" Mark continued calmly, almost silkily.  
  
By now, JB was in agony. "NO!" he all but yelled more empathically, as if saying it loudly would make his denial more believable.  
  
Mark looked amused by his agitation. He shifted his attention to the cakes he was redoing again. "Sure looks like you are," he said lightly, his own precise, slender fingers not trembling even a little on the tricky icing.  
  
JB was close to helpless tears. Not only was his cool, chic and suave image officially ruined, now Mark thought he had a crush on Junior. An unreciprocated one. Just great.  
  
"I'm sorry you had to remake the cakes," he sniffled, giving a last valiant attempt at changing the topic.  
  
Mark finished icing the top layer, and straightened up, finally looking at JB. He smiled forgivingly. "That's all right," he said, voice mild and placid as always, "But could you come here and help me with this bit?" His eyes were hopeful.  
  
"Of course!" JB stammered, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste to approach Mark. Mark easily and casually wrapped his arms around JB's shoulders, directing him to hold the tube of slippery icing. "We don't want an incident like the last one to happen again, do we?" he murmured, and JB nearly dropped the tube because Mark's voice was right by his ear, and so deep JB felt something stirring inside his implumbable depths.  
  
"Y-yes, hyung," he squeaked, and Mark's fingers tightened over his hands. "Keep your eyes on it," Mark whispered, his voice somehow breathy and hot beside JB's ear, hypnotic. JB felt his knees buckling, growing light-headed.  
  
"Don't move a muscle now," Mark commanded, ordered in that low, warm voice, and JB felt his entire body combust into moltenness as Mark's lips grazed the side of his bare neck, then latched onto the sensitive skin there, sucking a mark into his nape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is for the wonderful people who left me kudos and comments on ao3 and lj - gwhappiness, taegism, paintingdragons, nightbrights, mangadeba and darkensunrise. thank you so much. thank you to the people following this fic as well. im sorry it got extended again! and i realise that the characterization in this chapter is a bit different from the last lol or maybe its just me


	3. Chapter 3

Junior had almost completely forgotten what Jackson had told him on his first day, about him needing to organize and rearrange the cluttered storage room and closet when they did inventory, until one afternoon when JB poked his head out of the window through which the newly-baked pastries were passed out to be placed in the display case, and ordered him frazzledly to go to the storeroom and help him get a litre bottle of baking soda. When he arrived, he found the room vastly different from how he remembered it a few weeks ago, much of the mess cleared and stacked up in neat piles on the shelves, lined up in rows by brand and type. When he asked Yugyeom about it later, he looked surprised. "Wasn't it you who did it during inventory two weeks ago? Jackson-hyung said he would tell you to do it."  
  
Junior blinked. Jackson hadn't said anything to him about it. Did that mean... that _he_ was the one who had done it? His head spun, trying to make sense of this. What could have induced Jackson, who slacked off work whenever he could, and always grumbled when he was asked to help with other duties, to do something that should have been Junior's job without telling him anything?  
  
He sat down tentatively beside Jackson during lunch. For once, Momo and Tzuyu had their weekly day off on the same day, so Yugyeom and Bambam had whipped something up in the kitchen instead, two of the dishes that they were having a bit of difficulty getting right and needed practice on.  
  
Jackson didn't bat an eyelash when Junior sat down beside him but paused halfway in stuffing a triangle of magherita pizza into his mouth when he piped up timidly, "Thanks for helping me clear the storage room."  
  
He was studying Jackson closely, trying to read in his face the reason for his actions, and caught the way Jackson's eyes widened momentarily, as if surprised and embarrassed at being caught, but quickly regained their blandness.  
  
He stuffed the rest of the pizza into his mouth and chewed, not bothering to swallow before replying with his mouth full, "Why? Do you want to repay me?" He wriggled his eyebrows at Junior suggestively. "I accept both money and sexual favours. Blowjobs preferably, but I'm not picky."  
  
Junior's jaw slackened, head reeling. He did _not_ just say that. Jackson kept his eyes on him with a smirk, seeming to be challenging him to break their eye contact first. He swallowed his mouthful of pizza, then licked his lips, catlike smile growing at the way Junior's eyes snapped, stricken but uncontrollably towards his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat, then his mouth.  
  
"Oh my god," Bambam exclaimed from Junior's left, interrupting their conversation. "Did you just ask Junior-hyung to suck your dick?"  
  
The whole table turned to them with interest, conversations going silent and the air frigid. Okay, this totally wasn't awkward at all.  
Junior wasn't aware that he had stopped breathing until Yugyeom moaned theatrically. "When will you retire this? It's not even funny anymore. Look, I think you freaked poor Junior-hyung out."  
  
All eyes turned to Junior and he wondered if anyone would notice if he subtly and discreetly slid down in his chair onto the floor beneath the table.  
  
Jackson opened his mouth to reply, but Bambam cut in, pouting, "You never say that to me, Yugyeom, Mark-hyung, Momo, Nayeon or Tzuyu. Why do you only say it to Youngjae and JB-hyung?"  
  
From the bitterness of his voice on the word _Youngjae_ , it was clear that Bambam only cared about the answer to his question in regard to one person.  
  
Jackson laughed obnoxiously and replied without missing a beat, "Because you and Yugyeom aren't legal yet, doing it to Mark would feel incestous, and Momo, Nayeon and Tzuyu are girls. I don't do jailbait and I'm an active supporter of women's rights, okay. Just wait one more year if you want a piece of this wild and sexy too." He shot Bambam a greasy leer, causing him to regurgitate the chewed up food in his mouth.  
  
"The last time he said it to JB-hyung, he got a black eye," Yugyeom snickered in a private aside to Junior, who could finally breathe normally again. So Jackson said this to everyone as a joke. He had been an idiot to take it seriously.  
  
Junior's eyes moved across the table to find JB, who was not looking amused and stabbing at his pizza with the tines of his fork. "From JB?" he whispered back to Yugyeom, unsurprised but surprised at the same time to hear of JB throwing punches physically.  
  
"No, from Mark," Yugyeom informed him, widening his eyes. "He was pissed that Jackson was fooling around when we were ten orders behind schedule on that day."  
  
At this revelation, Junior was completely surprised. He swung his gaze to Mark who was picking at his pizza and taking small bites and occasional sips of his soda from a straw. He looked about as harmless as a pet rabbit, and the whole world knew Jackson was the boss's pet. Junior decided Yugyeom must be pulling his leg. At least, he hoped. He decided not to ask any further in the fear of shattering his flawless image of his idol.  
  
  
  
He was clearing the staff's dishes after the meal was over and everyone had dispersed to begin their preparations for the afternoon shift, setting the tables with napkins and cutlery and refilling the salt and pepper shakers. Jackson leaned back in his chair, tipping it backward and balancing on only the hind legs. Junior had doubts that he was the one who had rearranged the storeroom when Jackson didn't offer to help him with the plates but continued playing Candy Crush on his phone.  
  
But when Junior paused his clearing and placed his fingers on his temples to massage his head in weary exasperation, Jackson's eyes appeared over the top of his phone, peering with concern. "Is your head hurting? Did you remember something?"  
  
Junior blinked, disoriented, and abruptly remembered that JB had revealed his "amnesia" to Jackson on the first day of work. Because Jackson had never brought it up, he had assumed he had forgotten it or simply didn't care. Now, he wasn't sure what to answer, and for a moment just opened and closed his mouth dumbly like a goldfish.  
  
"Don't act nice. It's creepy," he ended up muttering eventually, once he had found his tongue. He was dismayed by the rudeness of his words, but it was the only way he knew how to hide the swirling bewilderment in his mind and the way Jackson's inexplicable concern unsettled and shook him up.  
  
Jackson looked rebuffed and slightly hurt, but he slid his phone into his jeans pocket and stood up, elbowing Junior out of the way. "I'll do it," he said gruffly. "You get a few minutes rest. JB will be getting on my back for bullying you again." He rolled his eyes as he easily stacked the plates up and hoisted them onto his shoulder, one-handed. As he turned to go, Junior blurted out, "Did you really believe I have amnesia?"  
  
Jackson turned to look at him, one eyebrow elevated, and Junior couldn't read the look in his eyes. Skilfully, he managed to lift his other shoulder not loaded with plates in a careless shrug. "At first, I just thought you were faking it because you were homeless, broke and desperate," he admitted bluntly. "But then I got to know you, and..."  
  
"And...?" Junior swallowed.  
  
Jackson smiled, ironically but unexpectedly. "And I thought you didn't seem like someone who would lie."  
  
He had set down the plates and was now focused intently on Junior, seeming to have more to say on the subject. "Are you having side effects, though? Don't you want to get back your memories? If you want to go to the hospital, I can accompany you."  
  
His offer seemed sincere, and suddenly Junior's throat felt thick and choked up with guilt. He hastily got to his feet and lowered his eyes, brushing past Jackson unsteadily, as he muttered, "I gotta go get ready for work."  
  
  
  
Junior had stopped wearing his cologne the day JB had told him he stunk, but he noticed that Jackson seemed to have undergone a makeover too at about the same time. He turned up for work a few days later with his blond hair freshly-dyed and slicked back with some shiny mousse, the dark roots that had been showing up till the day before, and Junior thought made him look scruffy and rugged, coloured in. In the new uniform Mark had ordered custom-made from a reputed tailor and just arrived, he looked like a prep school delinquent or superhero movie villian, all bad-boy charm.  
  
Junior tried not to stare too obviously at him, studiedly keeping his eyes in check as he stiffly delivered plates of pastries and drinks on autopilot.  
  
To his relief, the morning shift passed in its entirety without him having to talk to Jackson personally once. He continued keeping himself looking busy and occupied but as Mark was about to sit down next to him with his plate at lunch break, Jackson suddenly barged forward and threw himself down ungraciously into the chair beside Junior. He heaved a dramatically exhausted sigh and immediately leaned forward to steal a prawn from the platter of fried noodles on the table. Momo slapped his hand away and glared at him, but not before he had popped it into his mouth with satisfaction. Mark looked unperturbed by his usurping and drifted absently away to settle down beside JB.  
  
Junior buried his face deeper into his plate of noodles, shoveling them into his mouth with his chopsticks and hoping his face didn't look as warm as it felt.  
  
He finished eating in record time, and stood up with the others hoping to slink away, but although everyone dumped their own plates in the sink on the way into the kitchen, he was slowed down by having to clear the two big platters of almost polished up noodles and a few side dishes. As the rest of the crew dispersed, Jackson abruptly grabbed his wrist, holding him back till they were left alone.  
  
"Leave it," he said, voice gentle. "I'll do it later."  
  
Junior froze, and let go of the plate, but Jackson didn't let go of his hand.  
  
"You haven't looked at me all day," Jackson said, a confused note in his voice, and Junior raised his eyes, stricken. Finally looking at Jackson up close for the first time that day, he noticed that Jackson was wearing the barest touch of eyeliner, darkening the corners and bottom of his eyes. He looked like one of the fucking Volturi in Twilight or something.  
  
Junior snatched his hand away, the temperature of his face rising. "I was busy," he said, trying to keep his voice even. "Why should I look at you anyway?"  
  
There was a pause as this question apparently rendered Jackson speechless. Then he stood up, fingers closing over Junior's chin and roughly tipping it up. "Look at me, god dammit." His voice was low and frustrated, but it trembled on the last word with hurt and petulance.  
  
God, how did he manage to make tyranny look so hot?  
  
Junior glared at him, shooting daggers from his eyes, but Jackson only glared back, unphased. Which was a bad move, because his eyes only looked more piercing and striking when he narrowed them.  
  
After they had locked fiery gazes for about fifty-seven seconds (not that he was counting), Junior broke away, praying his heart hadn't been scrawled across his eyes. "Satisfied?" he snapped, gathering up the plates with a clatter and turning to stalk to the kitchen. He could feel Jackson still staring after him, mute with repressed frustration, but he didn't look back.  
  
Jackson didn't bother him any more till the afternoon shift started, thankfully. In the early afternoon when the teatime crowd was starting to arrive, Junior passed by the bar and paused to collect the few drinks standing there. Jackson had stuck the receipts to the side of the cold drinks, the condensation holding them to the glass, and wedged the ones for hot drinks beneath the saucer, but one of them had flown away. Junior picked up the cup to look for it but it was nowhere to be seen.  
  
When he hissed to Jackson, he didn't hear him, though. He had unbuttoned the cuffs of his uniform and rolled the sleeves up to just above his elbows, showing a glimpse of his toned biceps, which rippled and flexed as he leaned on his elbows over the bartop, chatting up a couple of young, pretty female customers who had drawn the gazes of most of the male staff as well when they arrived thirty minutes ago.  
  
Now, all three of them were giggling as though Jackson had just told a particularly hilarious joke, which Junior knew was statistically impossible because the only remotely funny joke Jackson knew involved Youngjae, cucumbers and dicks and would more likely earn him a slap in the face than giggles if he had said it to any lady.  
  
He was dimly aware that he was glaring at them in irritation and annoyance, but he only realised that he also looked envious when Yugyeom breezed past and promptly doubled back in concern. "You okay? You look kinda green."  
  
Junior jumped and quickly recovered, jerking his head in Jackson's direction and frowning emphatically to show his annoyance. "I can't find the receipt for one of the drinks."  
  
Yugyeom shook his head darkly, seeming to share his impatience. "He was probably too busy chatting up those girls and forgot to put it there. Jackson-hyung!" he raised his voice sarcastically. "Junior-hyung needs to know which table this goes to."  
  
Jackson finally turned to them, looking put out by being interrupted in his attempts at flirting. Impatiently, he ducked under the counter to check the ground and straightened up again, thumping a square of paper onto the counter and immediately returning to the girls, not even looking at Junior once. Yugyeom patted Junior's back and sighed in sympathy, turning to continue on his way to deliver his food.  
  
Junior swallowed over the lump in his throat and loaded the glasses onto his tray, the ice cubes already melting and probably making the drinks watery and diluted. But he didn't want to see Jackson's expression if he asked him to remake them.  
  
He kept his head down but as he passed by the two girls' seats, he couldn't help noticing that Jackson was smiling at them with his head tilted as he listened, that same charming smile he had aimed at Junior countless times in the past few weeks they had known each other. He couldn't believe he had been so foolish as to think that it was a special one reserved only for him. Now, he felt common and plebeian as he trudged with heavy feet and a bitter heart to serve the drinks, unable to even muster his usual bright smile as he set them down before the customers.  
  
  
  
Later that night after closing, Junior was taking a longer time than usual to polish dry the load of cutlery freshly retrieved from the dishwasher and dripping water because his mind kept drifting, his hands stilling their work.  
  
Since the first day they met, Jackson hadn't always been polite to him, but his eyes had always been warm, even when he was saying the most sarcastic or caustic stuff, so Junior knew he only meant them in jest. But today as he slapped the order sheet onto the counter, his eyes had been cold and aloof, devoid of warmth. Junior kept thinking back to lunchtime when they had had that awkward and rudely-ended conversation. Was Jackson seriously still nursing a grudge over something as minor as that?  
  
His thoughts were interrupted by Yugyeom, Bambam, Youngjae and JB dropping by the table he was sitting at, and tapping his shoulder. "Hyung, are you done? We're ready to go."  
  
Junior jumped, his eyes flitting down to the mountain of damp cutlery still undried in the basket in front of him. He looked up at them guiltily, opening his mouth. JB looked intimidatingly impatient, while he knew the three younger boys wouldn't mind waiting, but they all looked exhausted and longing for bed. It had been a long and tiring day.  
  
"Um... no, sorry. It's alright, you guys can go back first. I'll walk home alone later." He laughed nervously, hoping he sounded reassuring.  
  
Youngjae, Bambam and Yugyeom looked reluctant to leave him behind and torn between offering to sit down and help or just accept his permission to go back first. JB looked at him doubtfully, seeming surprisingly in two minds as well, before stifling a yawn so big it consumed his face. "If you say so." He nudged Youngjae sleepily. "Let's go."  
  
As the four of them trudged wearily out of the doors, Junior returned to his task, scouring the forks, knives and spoons with his cloth with increased vigour. A few minutes later, a shadow loomed over him and he looked up to see Jackson standing beside the table frowning down at him. "Where are the rest of them?"  
  
Junior's chest lurched; it was the first time Jackson had spoken to him since the drinks incident. "They went home first," he mumbled, not meeting Jackson's eyes.  
  
Most of the lights were already off, only the orange bulbs above the bar and the slice of white fluorescents slanting from the kitchen, so Junior couldn't see Jackson's expression well but he saw his eyebrows drawing together in a frown. "Fucking JB," he muttered under his breath, the foul mood he had been in all day seeming to still be undiminished.  
  
Junior thought he would leave, but Jackson surprised him by pulling out the chair opposite him with a scrape and plopping himself down heavily. Dumbstruck, he watched as Jackson picked up a bunch of cutlery and another cloth and started polishing them doggedly.  
  
"Y-you don't have to help me!" he quickly protested, drawing up in anxiety. "I can finish it myself."  
  
"Shut up," Jackson said tonelessly, not stopping his hands. "I can't wait all night to lock the shutters after you leave."  
  
Chastised by his brusqueness, Junior fell silent, embarrassed for assuming Jackson had wanted to help him when he only wanted to leave early. But after they had both finished in stilted silence and Jackson had helped him place the cutleries into the drawers, he shifted his feet outside the front doors of the patisserie as Jackson heaved the heavy shutters down with a forceful grunt and crouched to lock the doors. In the ivory moonlight, a halo glimmered on the crown of his blond head.  
  
When Jackson straightened up and turned back to him, Junior had already walked a few steps in the opposite direction. Jackson panted as he ran to catch up. "Where do you think you're going?" he snapped, out of breath.  
  
"Back to the dorm?" Junior said tentatively, confused. Jackson huffed in annoyance and glared at him. "I'm walking you home."  
  
Junior gaped at him. "B-but isn't your apartment the opposite way?"  
  
Jackson clenched his jaw, looking straight ahead. "It's not the safest area around here," he just said, echoing what JB had told him the night he rescued Junior. "I didn't beg Mark to drag you back from that Dumpster just to let you be kidnapped here."  
  
It was the first reference Jackson had made to the fact that he had been the one responsible for saving Junior, and Junior swallowed heart as he remembered JB's revelation. On the day he first heard it, he had been so astounded and discombobulated that it was all he could do to stumble back into the kitchen and lock himself into a bathroom cubicle, reeling from the news and the feelings it inspired in his chest.  
  
When would he stop feeling indebted to Jackson? It was kind of hard to stay angry at someone to whom you literally owed your life. Junior didn't know what to say as they continued walking in silence again, only the sound of their footsteps crunching on the gravel breaking the tranquil night.  
  
After a day at work, Jackson smelled intoxicatingly of a mixture of perspiration and deodorant... or was it cologne? If it was, he definitely knew the right amount to apply to avoid smelling like a fragrance shop, Junior noted enviously. He had forgotten to untuck his shirt after he took off his apron and one shirttail fell out messily, the other still tucked into his jeans which were slung low on his hips and hung there secured by a broad leather belt with a heavy Gothic buckle which glinted in the moonlight. Junior remembered the flash of his biceps he had caught, the coarseness of his arms and the prominent veins popping down the length as he lifted heavy loads. The image robbed him momentarily, dangerously of breath.  
  
Jackson's hands were shoved into his pocket, his bag slung diagonally over his shoulder, his eyes seeming lost in thought as he ambled forward steadily. But when Junior fell back a few paces, his footsteps slowing, Jackson stopped and turned, his face shrouded in shadows. "What's wrong?"  
  
"I..." Junior started, and couldn't continue.  
  
Jackson studied him for a beat, before walking towards him. As he approached, Junior could see that his eyes were dark with concern.  
"Are you okay?" he asked gruffly, but softer.  
  
Unconsciously, Junior's hands moved up to close over the straps of his own backpack in a nervous and protective gesture. He moved too fast and his arms grazed Jackson's with a tingle, the hairs standing. He leapt back immediately in an exaggerated motion, heart pounding and his throat closed up as he watched Jackson's mouth turn down and the distant annoyance enter his eyes again. He backed away a step too, and seemed to lose interest in hearing an answer as he turned to face the front again and started walking.  
  
This time, Junior ran to catch up with him. When he bent over to catch his breath with his hands on his knees and block Jackson on the road, he found himself blurting out breathlessly, "Why didn't you look at me when I called you for the receipt?"  
  
Jackson reared back defensively, seeming about to throw out some lame excuse. But eventually, he only said quietly, "I wanted you to know how I felt when you didn't look at me."  
  
It took a beat for the brutally honest statement to sink in. Then Junior shook his head and muttered under his breath, "God. I didn't know you were so petty."  
  
He was surprised to hear Jackson say, so softly it was barely audible, "I didn't know I was either."  
  
  
  
In the end, Jackson ended up sleeping over in the dormitory building as it was past midnight when they arrived and the buses had stopped running for the day.  
  
The next morning, Jackson announced he was moving into the dormitory.  
  
  
x  
  
  
On the first day Jackson left the apartment he shared with Mark downtown and moved into the dormitory to live with the others, he left the patisserie earlier than usual with the other four boys. JB lingered behind on the pretense that he had to finish marinating a blackforest cake that was due the next day in a mixture of rum and wine. Mark was sitting in the dim of the cafe at a table, in a puddle of orange light with his wire-rimmed reading glasses perched on his nose as he did the added a figure there and subtracted one here, making numbers and algorithms add up.  
  
JB sloped around the kitchen, wiping a stray stain he had missed and straightening this and that baking tin up for ten minutes before he couldn't stall any longer and drifted out of the kitchen to hover beside Mark's table.  
  
Mark looked up at his shadow, eyes distracted. He smiled at JB tiredly. "Is the cake done? You can go home first. I'll lock up."  
  
"I..." JB couldn't say that he was worried about Mark going home alone so late without Jackson, as he had been mistaken for a girl a few times before, which was doubly possible when it was so dark out.  
  
"Hmmm?" Mark muttered distractedly, punching the calculator with his index finger and running his other hand through his hair.  
  
The tousled bird's nest of his hair sent a pang through JB's chest. Unbidden, as it always did at the most random and inopportune times, the memory of that day a week ago when Mark had sucked a welt into his neck while they were icing a cake floated to the surface of his mind.  
  
In truth, since that day, it had never been far from his thoughts. He could bury it behind other, more pressing thoughts if he tried hard enough, even temporarily forget it when he was busy enough. But it always came back, haunting, mystefying.  
  
He knew why. It was because, two weeks later, JB still could not for the life of him figure out why Mark had given him a... (there was no other word for it) love bite.  
  
He had come up with a few possible, feasible theories.  
  
Maybe he had been drunk, although JB hadn't smelled alcohol on his breath.  
  
Maybe he had temporarily lost his senses.  
  
Maybe it had been an accident. (Could one give another person a love bite accidentally? He wouldn't know, he had never received -- or given, for that matter -- one.)  
  
The last option wasn't as far-fetched as it sounded, in his defense, considering the way Mark acted after he had released JB's neck from his lips. To put it simply, he had acted like nothing had happened. He had backed away, turned to face the oven so JB couldn't see his face, and said in an impassive voice, "You can do the rest yourself."  
  
"O-okay..." JB stammered on reflex, his voice hoarse and sounding embarrassingly wrecked. He cleared his throat awkwardly and noticed that the tips of Mark's ears were unusually red, probably because he had been standing in front of the ovens for a while. He lowered his eyes and hands back to the task but found that he had to use the fingers of one hand to hold the other steady, or it would keep shaking and ruin the entire design. His neck throbbed and his knees felt like jelly, his head swirling queasily. Mark stood in the same position, his back to JB, for about five minutes more before he abruptly turned on his heel and strode out of the kitchen. He didn't reappear till JB had finished all the icing and it was twenty-three minutes later. When he did, he was brisk and absorbed in his work as usual. He seemed to have forgotten that anything out of the ordinary had happened that afternoon at all.  
  
Naturally, JB was confused. Make that confused as hell. Completely and utterly bewildered, actually.  
  
To be accurate, he was kind of in a state of prolonged shock.  
  
  
  
The fourth theory was that Mark was secretly a vampire and his bloodlust had overtaken him on that day, making him nearly tear JB's neck open with his teeth and drain him of blood.  
  
It was possible, okay. Mark had fangs; JB had actually seen them when he smiled particularly widely. He had thought they were interestingly adorable, like a small furry carnivorous animal. Until now.  
  
  
  
The fifth option -- the one JB hadn't even allowed himself to consider for more than a second, because it was so outlandish and improbable -- was that Mark was in homoerotic love with him. That he had a homosexual crush on JB.  
  
For obvious reasons, JB couldn't think about this without remembering, with an almost physical ache, the tragic misunderstanding with Junior, which, when he thought about it, had in fact been the catalyst for this incident. God, this was fucked up in more ways than one.  
  
JB would have been able to convince himself that it was a dream, a bizarre and hideous nightmare, but for one thing: he could see the mark on his neck. And when he thought the words _mark on his neck_ , instantly, in a flash, they summoned up frighteningly vivid and lurid images of _Mark_ on his neck, both literally and figuratively, sucking a mark onto his neck. How fucked up was that?  
  
Okay, he wasn't actually freaking out or anything. He was totally Zen about this. He was in the zone.  
  
(Not only did the swollen, obscenely red mark not fade for four days -- which he had to drag himself up at an ungodly hour and sneak into Jackson's room to fumble in the dark for his concealer and furtively swipe a huge blob onto his thumb which he clumsily and vehemently patted onto the side of his neck in a thick, goopy layer, back in his room. It dried flakily and was a shade slightly lighter than his skin, but mercifully it was wholly covered by the collar of his uniform. Still, he couldn't help being paranoid to the point of having nightmares that someone would catch a glimpse of it beneath his collar and ask what it was, which would most certainly involve Mark and might even make him speak up about the incident. Which would be the biggest possible disaster that could actually happen, considering that JB was trying to hypnotise himself into forgetting it.  
  
Thus, although maybe another person would have been upset or even angry that Mark had not said a word about it, he was instead relieved.)  
  
  
  
It occured to him briefly, a few times when he had quickly cut this train of thought short, that he could have just asked Mark, right after the incident: _What are you doing? Why did you do this to me?_  
  
To be fair, these were probably sensible questions any other normal person in his situation would have asked immediately.  
  
But he had been paralyzed, in his state of frozen shock, and Mark had been staring at the wall with his shoulders squared stiffly, turning his back resolutely towards him, and then the window of opportunity had passed and he couldn't find another chance to ask his questions. Couldn't bring himself to and wouldn't. Maybe on a subconscious level, he dreaded the answer.  
  
  
  
To clarify, JB _had_ had love for Mark before this. He had loved Mark, simply and adoringly, the way one loves idols and deities -- from far away, with awe. He had worshipped the ground he walked on and respected him as one would a figure of infinitely higher stature than oneself. By the time he met Mark, he had idolized him for such a long time that even after they met, this idolation and adultary naturally morphed into something slightly different but still in essence similar -- to him, Mark would always be untouchable, an unreachable mountain peak, a revered statue mounted on a pedestal.  
  
Therefore, he loved Mark, but he didn't _love_ him. His love wasn't of the flesh; it wasn't physical desire or attraction. It was more on the soul level; it defied categorization. It wasn't shallow but so deep and profound he didn't even know how to begin to define it in clumsy language.  
  
But one thing was for sure: he hadn't lusted after Mark.  
  
He could have pledged on oath with his conscience clear that he had never had an erotic wet dream about Mark, ever.  
  
  
  
He no longer could.  
  
  
  
Gradually, as everything was, including memories, the incident was eroded by time as the agonizing days crawled past to become painful days, which slipped past too, and then the memory of the incident was only a healed wound which occasionally throbbed inexplicably, and then a dull, numb scar.  
  
He did his best not to refresh the memory by recalling it, deliberately letting the details get blurred and murky by time, other newer and more recent events piling up over it till they almost nearly buried it. Events which actually made sense, that were safe and he could hide behind and live in and not peer into the depthless, yawning abyss that lay behind them and into which he knew he would never be able to find his way out of if he fell into.  
  
It was an aberration, and JB disliked aberrations. It was one of the reasons he liked baking -- the sense of order, the lack of chaos, the security and comfort of the certain knowledge that as long as he followed the instructions on the recipe to the T, when he got to the end, the cake that was printed on the paper of the book would appear before him, looking exactly identical. It was why he had chosen to major in baking instead of his minor Philosophy, which had always intrigued and scared him in equal measure. There weren't certainties in philosophy, many grey areas, almost no definitions at all. In fact JB hadn't been sure why he had even enjoyed it at all, but he had always been drawn to the subject and his professors told him he showed an aptitude for it, so he ended up agreeing to take the course to make his transcript look better.  
  
Now, he had one useless, old and dusty Philosophy certificate, nearly forgotten and buried behind the numerous baking contest certificates he had acquired and accumulated since then, from both locally and overseas. It was a part of his emotional and stormy adolescence and young adulthood he generally tried to forget.  
  
  
  
But still, for reasons he couldn't discern, at the most unlikely and unexpected of times, that old, faded memory still popped up at the edges of his mind, nagging and discomforting.  
  
Like when he watched Mark cracking eggs into a mixing bowl with effortless skill, so cleanly and neatly that not a single piece of eggshell fell into the flour which he proceeded to vigorously stir in a circular motion with a mixer, his other arm holding the bowl to his torso as if the movement involved the strength of his whole body. They had an extravagant state-of-the-art electrical mixer too, but when they weren't pressed for time, Mark preferred to assemble the cake mix manually. They had actually conducted experiments on this before and JB had acknowledged that the mix stirred by hand tasted significantly smoother and tastier than the one done by machine.  
  
"I'm kind of traditional in a lot of ways," Mark had shrugged self-deprecatingly, smiling as he loaded the cake tin into the oven carefully, looking worn out but satisfied. "Some people might call me old-fashioned." There was a playful glint in his eye, and JB tried to hide his impressed awe.  
  
"They must be ignoramuses!" he blurted out heatedly and staunchly. "Haven't they heard that old-fashioned is the new cool?"  
  
It had still been their "honeymoon period" then, the very first weeks JB had come to the patisserie and was still starstruck by Mark's very presence breathing the same air as him, larger than life.  
  
This had elicited a laugh from Mark, and he knew Mark was pleased from the way he ruffled his hair. "You're so cute, JB," he had said, offhandedly, and JB had felt himself blush with giddy pleasure from the roots of his hair to the tips of his toes.  
  
  
  
Then they had advanced, cautiously and tentatively, into friendship, and JB had thought this platonic brotherhood the most beautiful and sacred bond in the world.  
  
Now, he didn't know what to think. But he did know that there was nothing, _nothing_ sacred or beautiful about the _things_ he did to Mark in his unconscious twisted and warped fantasies, in the dark of the night. They were filthier than the most graphic porn videos he had watched on the internet and more aggressively explicit than he had ever imagined any human being's anatomy, female or male.  
  
Well, okay, he might actually kind of be having a meltdown. He had no idea what was happening to him and it terrified him out of his wits.  
  
  
  
Mark wasn't helping with his radio silence at all. Actually, JB might kind of lowkey hate him for what he had done.  
  
"JB! JB!" he heard, filtering in from a distance, and snapped out of his stupor to find Mark peering at him worriedly, his face about three inches too close, the proximity so unnerving that JB sprang backwards physically and accidentally pounded the mortar he was using to grind biscuits into crumbs for a base for the blueberry cheesecake they were preparing into his thumb.  
  
"OWW! Shit --" The instinctive oaths that burst from his mouth ceased as Mark grabbed his hand, gripping it tightly as his eyes scanned JB's rapidly swelling thumb with a frighteningly angry look.  
  
"What were you doing?" Mark demanded, face pale and eyes drilling into JB's unforgivingly. "What were you thinking?" Absurdly, JB thought that Mark was behaving as though JB had hurt his hand, instead of his own. He didn't understand why Mark was so upset, why he was overreacting.  
  
Tears flooded JB's eyes as the pain started to hit in a breathtaking first wave, cutting through the numbness, then faded a little into dull intermittent throbs. But it was also partially due to Mark's harsh tone and the frantic anxiety and alarm that was whirling around his mind, making his head spin dangerously.  
  
Mark's eyes softened instantly, looking contrite with guilt. He gently loosened the mortar from JB's left hand and placed his other hand on the small of JB's back, guiding him to the sink like a frail invalid and wincing as he carefully took JB's wrist and placed it under the tap, then turned on the faucet. The flow of the water made JB hiss with pain when it hit his thumb where the skin had split open and blood was beading and trickling down the palm of his hand, staining the water pink.  
  
"Why were you so careless?" Mark chided, in a softer tone. "Is the pain very bad?"  
  
JB shook his head, fresh tears gathering at the base of his throat. Mark clenched his teeth helplessly and turned the faucet off when the blood had tapered down to sporadic drops. He grabbed a clean paper kitchen towel and wrapped it around JB's thumb with clumsy but painstaking gentleness.  
  
When Mark helped him out of the dry and steamy kitchen, holding him steady with a hand gripping his elbow and the other clutching his injured hand like he had injured his legs and not his upper limbs, Jackson and Youngjae quickly dropped their tasks and drifted over.  
  
"What happened, hyung?" Youngjae looked worried as he took in the blood-soaked paper towel, and Jackson looked at Mark quizzically.  
  
"JB crushed his thumb," Mark said flatly, and Jackson and Youngjae immediately winced in sympathy. "Jacks, can you help me get the first-aid box?" Mark pressed anxiously, and Jackson quickly disappeared behind the bar, crouching down to rummage through the cupboards. "Jae, can you call Junior for me?" Mark turned to Youngjae, who nodded and weaved through the maze of tables to tap Junior's shoulder and whisper into his ear.  
  
They were left alone again momentarily, Mark actually looking increasingly anxious as the seconds passed instead of relaxing. Absurdly, the thought popped into JB's mind that he looked like his wife was in labour. Where the fuck did that come from?  
  
Then Jackson was back breathlessly with the first-aid box, which Mark snatched from him with barely a murmur of thanks and promptly steered JB to an empty table near the back of the cafe. He dispatched Jackson back to the bar and led JB gently into a chair, then placed his hand on the table with care.  
  
Mark's eyes were as serious as any of the times he was baking pastries and cakes as he dabbed a q-tip doused with antiseptic disinfectant onto JB's wound, then wrapped it round a few times with a roll of white cloth bandage. He secured it with a knot, then studied it clinically. He performed these actions with utmost tenderness, as a nurse would handle a newborn infant.  
  
Just then, Junior had finished what he was doing and come by their table. "Did you need me, Mark-hyung?" he asked cheerfully, then noticed JB's bandage. "Are you okay?" He looked alarmed.  
  
Mark was dabbing at the dried blood on JB's fingers and palm with a wet tissue, gently. He barely looked up as he replied, "JB hurt his hand. Could you ask someone to cover your duties and come help me out in the kitchen for today?"  
  
"Oh!" Junior looked surprised, blinking a few times before saying, "Sure, of course. I'll be there in a jiffy. Be right back!"  
  
Mark finally finished his ministrations and looked up at him. "Do you want to go home?" he asked in the same hushed, solicitous voice, like he was talking to a wounded animal. His eyes combed JB's for any sign of pain.  
  
"N-no, that's okay," JB stammered quickly. "It actually doesn't hurt that much anymore. I can just sit here and rest and... maybe do the accounts so you can go home early today...?"  
  
"You musn't hurt your hand again, do you hear me?" Mark blurted out fiercely, and JB was stunned to see his eyes bright with unshed tears. "You should know as well as me that a baker's most important asset is his hand."  
  
JB nodded meekly, mollified into silence by the intensity of Mark's reaction. "Don't worry," he brought his unhurt hand up to the back of Mark's shoulder and patted him gingerly twice. "I'm really fine."  
  
"Don't tell me not to worry about you," Mark retorted sharply, looking at him with slitted eyes. "If you don't want me to worry, don't get hurt."  
  
Junior came back then, and smiled at them beatifically, unaware of the contents of their conversation. "Take a break and get well soon, JB!" he said kindly and JB muttered, "Thanks."  
  
Mark turned to Junior, gesturing to him to follow him back to the kitchen, and didn't say another word to JB before they both left him. But fifteen minutes later, after JB had taken a quick power nap on the table and snapped awake again, starting to feel restless and bored, Jackson appeared beside him holding the thick book Mark jotted the accounts and tallied expenses in every night.  
  
"Mark said you're not allowed to use your right hand in any way, or else." Jackson made a threatening slashing gesture over his throat, and lumbered away boredly.  
  
  
  
Doing the accounts (impeded by only having the facility of one hand, though he was relieved it was his writing hand) made JB think of the night a few days ago when he had waited for Mark to finish them after work, then walked him home, taking the bus downtown to his apartment. It was the last bus service of the day and the interior was almost deserted, so they had their pick of seats.  
  
They didn't do anything especially or talk about anything important, Mark pulling his headphones over his ears as he leaned the side of his head against the window and stared out blankly, looking like he was too tired to talk. JB tactfully didn't try to engage him in conversation, instead picking a seat at the opposite window, a few seats away and lapsing into his own tired silence.  
  
"You didn't have to walk me home," Mark said slightly reproachfully when they had arrived at his doorstep.  
  
JB shuffled his feet. He knew Mark didn't like people alluding or suggesting that he looked feminine in any way, and even if he didn't mind, JB would rather be trampled on than admit that he was worried for Mark's safety. Mark was a fully grown adult man capable of protecting himself and JB's fears felt ridiculous to even himself. He just... he didn't know what he would do if anything, anything at all, happened to Mark.  
  
"I... I didn't!" he quickly improvised. "I wanted to go to a pub nearby, so..."  
  
"A pub?" Mark raised his eyebrows. There was a beat of doubtful silence. "I didn't know you went to such places."  
  
"I do," JB said shortly, realising that his nervousness made him sound curt. He hastily turned to leave and cut short the conversation. "Goodnight," he remembered to throw over his shoulder.  
  
"JB," he heard Mark say softly, but his ears immediately caught it. He turned, but instead of saying _See you tomorrow_ as he had expected, Mark said, "It's late. Don't go to the pub; you have the morning shift tomorrow. You can sleep over tonight."  
  
  
x  
  
  
The days passed. A couple of times, some things happened that, had Junior been a girl, he might have wondered if Jackson was interested in him or wooing him.  
  
In the middle of a particularly busy shift, as he was scuttling through the mindless routines and serving cups and plates till he didn't even know what he was saying anymore; the words and greetings and courtesies just tumbled out on autopilot, in the midst of an endless queue of confusing cappucinos and mochas (confusing because they had an almost identical colour), he found a cup with the slip of paper wedged under reading in blue ink: "Table No.: Junior" and in smaller font, a sloppily scrawled message below: "Take a 5 mins break. I got ur back yo ;)"  
  
He whipped his head up to look at Jackson, who was bustling around completing a batch of orders, and too busy to spare him a glance. Which was fortunate, because he was pretty sure he looked like he needed emergency CPR. His heart was thudding against his ribs like the drum solo in a heavy metal song.  
  
He grabbed the note and stuffed it into his pocket furtively, looking around with the absurd fear that someone would see it and pounce on him. He picked up the glass with both hands, although it wasn't a hot drink. He didn't trust his trembling hands not to drop it.  
  
Back in the alley, away from prying eyes, he closed his own eyes as he wrapped his lips around the oversized straw and satisfaction washed over him as he slurped up the crushed ice of the frappucino topped with a generous dollop of whipped cream. It tasted frankly sublime, and he wondered if Jackson had put special effort into making it for him. If this was the standard of every single frappucino he made, it was truly impressive.  
  
When the last drop flowed down his parched and moistened throat, he sighed in genuine contentment and longing for more, much more. One cup wasn't nearly enough to quench his thirst, and he senselessly thought that the drinks Jackson made were like Jackson himself -- they just made you want more, more, more; made your thirst doubly insatiable.  
  
Reluctantly, he checked his watch and forced himself to reenter the bakery when five minutes had passed. He wouldn't want to cause Jackson any trouble when he was so flooded himself.  
  
On the way through the kitchen, he noticed JB and Mark huddling together in front of the ovens, looking deep in conversation, and took advantage of their turned backs to nimbly on impulse snatch a pink macaroon from the tray that was cooling on the counter.  
  
Even though he had never tasted any of the bakery's macaroons before and desperately longed to try one, this one wasn't for him. Carefully, he wrapped it in a paper napkin and couldn't contain the smile threatening to overtake his face as he slipped back into the cafe and cheery buzzing of conversation.  
  
He plucked the pen out from his apron pocket and scrawled on the top of the napkin: "Thank you. It was delicious ^_^". As he walked past the bar where Jackson was handing out cups of just-made drinks, he slid it into his jeans back pocket.  
  
The receipts fell from Jackson's hand and fluttered to the counter as he whirled around, mouth open and eyes disbelieving. They darkened in a way that made Junior drop his eyes, unable to look straight at Jackson.  
  
When he raised his head again, Jackson was slipping his hand out of his pocket and looking in mild confusion at the paper-wrapped macaroon, then comprehension dawning in his eyes as he read the words and unfolded the napkin carefully. Youngjae and Tzuyu were fumbling through the receipts he had dropped, trying to match the numbers to the cups, but he didn't seem to notice or care as he held Junior's eyes while putting the entire macaroon in his mouth in one bite and grinning at him outrageously, his mouth full. Even with his mouth stretched uglily with food, he still looked like Junior's hottest teenage dream come true.  
  
Junior was made aware by the pain lancing through his face that he was beaming back with an equal degree of moronic imbecility. They just stood there for a lifetime, grinning at each other creepily until Jackson swallowed, his masculine Adam's apple bobbing, and God, Junior needed to never think of the two words _Jackson swallowed_ in public again because he was having a very personal reaction in his pants indeed.  
  
  
  
He didn't think Jackson would mention the incident, assuming that both of them would just pretend it had never happened to save themselves and each other the embarrassment. But later at night as they were walking back to the dorm, the two of them lagging slightly behind the other four, Jackson mentioned casually, "How did the frappucino taste? I added hazelnut." He smiled, and Junior's heart skipped a beat.  
  
"Glorious," he replied after a moment, then blushed at the undisguised pleasure which lit Jackson's face.  
  
"I'll make it for you again the next time if you like it," he said. They unconsciously moved closer an inch, and their hands accidentally brushed against each other, knuckles grazing. They both quickly leaped apart at the same time, and Jackson's face looked a little flushed too in the dim moonlight, like when he was winded just after two straight shifts.  
  
"Actually, I prefer caramel macchiatos," Junior babbled mindlessly to cover up the tension, with no idea what he was saying.  
Jackson looked up at him, eyes wide with interest. "You do?"  
  
  
  
The next day, he was less surprised but still utterly swept off his feet to find again, among a queue of tiring orders, a surprise cup of caramel macchiato with no whipped cream on top this time but Jackson's signature latte art, a flowery and showy design of a heart. It was in a paper takeaway cup with a cardboard sleeve that when Junior lifted up to see in the back alley, found the printed "Caution: Contents hot" label partially crossed out and corrected to read: "Caution: Drinker hot".  
  
He had to restrain himself from moaning out loud at the cheesiness. It was the oldest trick in the book, the most popular barista pick-up line. But for some reason, he found his fingers running over Jackson's charmingly loopy handwriting fondly, cherishing the words as the sweet beverage with the slightest tinge of bitterness flowed down his throat and through his gullet, warming his chest immeasurably.  
  
  
  
The first time Junior had seen Mark was on TV, six months after he had arrived in Los Angeles on a plane from Korea that stopped over for a two-hour transit in Beijing. His dream when he first set foot in America had been to become a Hollywood actor, in those movies and soap operas he had devoured voraciously throughout his teenagehood, eyes scanning the Korean subtitles avidly until he was gradually able to understand the dialogue without subtitles, then even able to apply the English he had learnt to become twice, thrice as fluent in school, fluent enough to read novels, then classic literature, and in the end score a place in the English Literature course at university.  
  
But he soon realised that reality was not as kind or rose-coloured. He had been overly idealistic and naive, not taking into account the challenges he would face alone in a foreign country far away from home -- the unfamiliar climate, the homesickness, the bone-chilling winters and the ever-intensifying ache for the hometown he had left behind in small-town Jinhae.  
  
Yes, it had been a one-horse town that seemed too little to contain his dreams. But it was only when he had left and travelled far away, that he realised it had also been the one and only place where he had ever felt at home.  
  
He lost his drive; he was easily demoralized and discouraged, unable to see any future in continuing to go for fruitless audition after fruitless audition, waiting for hours in cramped and squalid waiting rooms till the curt receptionist called him in to utter one line before he was shot down with varying but always disappointing verdicts of "Too stiff, too unnatural, too thick an accent".  
  
It was at the period he was losing hope, trudging past a travel agency in Koreatown and tempted to walk in and buy a one-way ticket back to Korea, but not even having enough money to do so, when he saw a flatscreen TV playing in the opposite electronics shop. He advanced a few steps, interest slightly piqued and realised it was a cooking program. He started losing interest, assuming it was probably some sort of Jamie Oliver-type celebrity chef, a phony and scripted interview and food that looked unrealistically gorgeous and impossible to replicate.  
  
But then he heard a gravelly, smooth voice saying, "Good afternoon, I'm Mark Tuan and it's an honour to be invited on the show," and the last name snagged his attention with its unmistakable Asian heritage. When he turned back to the TV, he saw a young man who had strawberry-blond hair and a brisk American accent but was clearly Asian, smiling quietly from the screen. There was nothing showy about his actions, but his voice was calm and authoritative, reassuring and warm as he simply and clearly explained the steps showing how to bake a loaf of "the most delicious white bread you will ever taste", promising that "It was so easy, you could do it in your sleep". Junior almost snorted in disbelief but there was something about the sincerity in the man's eyes that convinced him, that made him believe it was possible.  
  
When he got back to the decrepit room he was renting in a backpackers' hostel, he headed for the empty kitchen with the simple and cheap ingredients he had bought at a nearby supermarket to try it out.  
  
He followed the man's instructions to the letter, and when he took the loaf of steamy hot bread out of the oven and cut the first slice, a miracle happened. It was the most delicious bread he had ever tasted, and he had made it himself.  
  
  
  
In the months that followed, he started practicing in earnest, starting to seriously think about baking as a potential career and livelihood. He found that he had a passion in this area that might even be comparable to his interest in acting, but that most importantly, baking made him happy. Pastries, cakes, simple loaves of bread -- it didn't matter what he baked, as long as he was making delicious food that would bring happiness to the people who ate it.  
  
To gain access to a better and more well-facilitated kitchen, he moved out of the hostel and rented a room above a shophouse a few streets away. The room was even tiner and more destitute, but his sacrifice was worth it because the landlord who was also the owner of the shophouse allowed him to use his kitchen, a big improvement from the hostel's spare one. He missed being able to distribute and share his pastries with his hostel mates, and occasionally walked the ten minutes back to deliver loads of freshly baked cupcakes or cookies to them.  
  
One of them gave his cakes to the owner of a small neighbourhood bakery, who was pleasantly surprised by the refreshing and delicious flavour when he bit into them. Through the mutual friend, he was introduced to the owner of the bakery and asked if he wanted a part-time job. Since he was generally free during his days anyway and spent most of his time practicing baking in the kitchen, he agreed and was grateful for the chance to earn some spare cash to supplement his savings which were running dangerously low.  
  
After a couple of months of honing his skills at the bakery, and learning useful tips from the owner, he applied for a job at a franchise of a popular chain of designer bread, a league fancier than the bakery which sold dirt-cheap, mass-produced buns to housewives on a shoestring budget. When he got the job, the owner was happy for him as he had come to think of him as his disciple and gently but firmly insisted that he had to take it up and not waste the opportunity to rise up the ranks. He bade a sorrowful goodbye to the kindly elderly baker and headed with his only belongings in the world modestly packed into a duffel bag slung over his shoulder to the bakery which provided meals and lodging.  
  
He had worked hard at the bakery, being a fast learner and a natural at customer service. Customers and his fellow colleagues and bosses alike all liked him. Within a span of months, he climbed up the ranks swiftly, rising to become trainee manager and then head baker of the store. But all along, he had never forgotten who had been the one who introduced him to baking, who initiated him to the joys of this wonderful and dynamic activity.  
  
He should have been contented, rightfully, being the head baker of the designer bakery, respected and deferred to; but for some reason he still felt unsatisfied and discontented. He felt that his journey had not yet reached its end, would not until he had finally come full circle.  
  
He knew that he would be considered a late bloomer, that compared to all those other students at prestigious culinary institutes in exotic countries like Paris or France, he would fall short in terms of qualifications. But although he had only discovered his passion for baking six months ago and hadn't received the most formal or official education, he was brashly confident that he would be as equally skilled as any one of them.  
  
That was three weeks before Jackson found him, before he devised his plan, before everything started and impossibly, against all odds, he stepped through the sparkling glass doors of the patisserie, into the sunshine of Mark's smile he had remembered from the small TV screen. It looked infinitely more beautiful in person.  
  
  
  
"Ju~nior~" the sound of his name being playfully singsonged drew him back to the present and out of his memories. He blinked out of his daze to see Youngjae gazing up at him with entreating liquid brown puppy eyes that most certainly foreshadowed an upcoming favour being asked.  
  
Sure enough, Bambam popped up from behind his shoulder, smiling winningly as well. "Hyuuung," he purred in a wheedling tone, rotating his shoulders in what Junior supposed was meant to be a cute move but unfortunately looked faintly nauseating and creepy.  
He quickly held up a hand, his vision glazing over again. He had been feeling light-headed and unpleasantly dizzy and weak since he woke up with a slight fever that morning, but he hadn't told anybody so as not to worry them and come to work anyway since he knew they were desperately shorthanded, especially on Fridays.  
  
Since he started work a little more than two months ago, he had been working almost daily straight ten-hour shifts, sometimes up to twelve when he did overtime. He didn't mind because he enjoyed the work and his colleagues' company, and wanted to prove his mettle to Mark and JB because he had stated in his application form that his strengths were his hardworkingness, ability and stamina to work long hours, and handle stress well and stay calm under pressure. Since Mina had left, they were perpetually understaffed and everyone, not only him, was running themselves down to cover all the duties and share the workload equally.  
  
He was confident he could handle it with no problems; after all, he was used to working backbreaking hours in the hot steamy kitchen at his last job. But he must have caught a cold or the influenza these few days because he was feeling as weak as a kitten and barely able to stumble groggily through the cafe, counting down the hours till his shift was over and he could go home and fall into his warm, comfy bed and sleep for eight hours straight.  
  
Now, Youngjae and Bambam clasped their hands together in supplication, their eyes sparkling hopefully. "It's such a hot day, we wanted to run to the convenience store to buy popsicles. Can you cover for me for ten minutes?" Youngjae pleaded. "We'll get one for you too."  
  
"Oh... uh... sure," Junior replied agreeably and obligingly, not that he stood a chance of refusing their cuteness when they really tried. "But make sure it's ten minutes, or you might get in trouble if someone notices."  
  
"Thanks, hyung! You're the best! We love you!" they trilled in unison, grabbing each other's hands in glee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is dedicated to Yeolya, seitsemannen and pottyfrodo, for being the best cheerleaders this fic could ever ask for :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is mature.

As Youngjae and Bambam slunk furtively out of the back door, wagging their fingers and shooting him final conspiratorial smiles, Junior heard the wind chime at the front doors tinkling cheerfully, announcing the entrance of a new group of customers. He put on his big friendly smile and walked out to show them to a table and pass out menus.  
  
After he had taken their orders -- a group of five capricious and bubbly teenage girls who kept changing their minds indecisively and made his head spin with their messy ordering -- he keyed them into the computer and cleared a table nearby he had spotted the customers vacating just then. A temporary lightness made his head swim and he gripped the edge of the table as his tray full of dishes wobbled precariously. Luckily, it passed after a few seconds, though he still felt mildly disoriented and toted the tray with both hands to be safe. After he had dumped the dirty dishes at the dishwasher, he was heading for the bar to get a glass of water to hopefully freshen himself up when Momo entreated him, "Oppa, can you help me take this load out? I put too much stuff in and it's too heavy."  
  
She looked at him in sheepish embarrassment, and Junior took in the load of freshly-washed baking tins and kitchen equipment in the open dishwasher, all metal and understandably too heavy for a girl to lift, especially since Momo had stuffed in some glasses at the sides as well at the empty spaces, probably to save time, although she wasn't supposed to wash the kitchen equipment and customers' utensils together.  
  
He smiled back at her, unable to refuse her request. "Sure." He placed both hands on the sides of the dishwashing rack and took a deep breath. The load was heavier than he expected and barely budged on his first attempt, so he applied more strength and managed to lift it out of the dishwasher with a forceful grunt. Momo looked anxious as he teetered for a little balancing the load against his torso, then thankfully regained his equilibrium. But when he was slowly lowering it to the counter behind the sink, a wave of vertigo hit him unexpectedly, making his limbs go jelly-like and strengthless for a moment. There was a sickening moment of silence as the weight of the rack became overpoweringly heavy and it suddenly felt like he was holding a tonne of rocks. It only took a moment of his arms sapping of strength and his reflexes failing for the load to give in to the downward pull of gravity and hurtle downwards with a deafening clatter, hitting the ground with smashing and shattering noises of varying loudness.  
  
His head spun and Momo's features blurred before his eyes. He felt his knees starting to fold when a hand closed around his elbow tightly, and Junior felt a moment of relief as his back slumped backwards to hit a solid body, his shoulder blades falling against Jackson's chest.  
  
Mark and JB rushed in, from the other side of the kitchen separated from the dishwasher by a wall. Mark's eyes were tight with alarm and JB looked concerned. "What happened?"  
  
Momo bit her lip and looked down, blushing in embarrassment at the ruckus. "Sorry," she mumbled. "I asked Junior-oppa to help me lift this load out."  
  
She bent down and began gathering up the shards of glass with her hands, but Nayeon quickly appeared with a broom and dustpan and dragged her to her feet, quietly starting to sweep up the mess. Junior tried to crouch down too to pick up the scattered baking trays and tins, but Jackson stopped him by pressing his fingers harder into Junior's arm, which he hadn't let go of.  
  
He wrenched Junior around to face him roughly, looking furious for some reason. "Where's Youngjae?" he asked, looking around at the rest of the staff who had been drawn by the clatter and were mostly gathered around them in concern.  
  
"Uhh..." Junior jumped uneasily, not expecting the question. He avoided Jackson's eyes guiltily, but they pinned his. "I don't know."  
  
"Are you all right?" Mark asked him, moving closer too. "You look pale as a sheet."  
  
"I'm fine!" Junior laughed awkwardly, hoping to ease some of the tension. "I'm so sorry," he started, "It was all my fault --" but Mark placed a comforting hand on his shoulder and told Jackson quietly, "Take him to get a few minutes rest. I'll cover for you." He bent to stop JB, who was picking up the baking tins and stacking them up, and ushered him back to the kitchen, then personally finished the task and thanked Nayeon and Momo for clearing the shards up.  
  
Junior and Momo were apologizing profusely to each other, Momo looking tearful when Youngjae and Bambam crept in through the back door. "Hyung!" Bambam yelped in excitement when he saw him, then his eyes widened and his voice trailed off as he sensed the situation. Beside him, Youngjae's smile slipped and there were awkward, soft popping noises as they both slid the popsicles in their mouths out.  
  
Youngjae's hand holding the plastic bag containing the third popsicle for Junior fell limply to his side. He looked stricken as his eyes flickered to Jackson, and Junior realised why when he turned to see Jackson glowering at him intimidatingly with no hint of humour in his eyes.  
  
"Where have the two of you been?" he asked calmly, but his voice was menacingly low.  
  
Bambam swallowed, looking guilt-stricken too. "W-we went to buy..." he stammered. Youngjae raised the plastic bag lamely, and backed away slightly with fear as Jackson took an aggressive step towards him. Bambam stepped protectively in front of Youngjae, though he looked like he was trembling too. Junior had never seen Jackson so pissed before.  
  
Before he knew what was happening or could stop it, Jackson was lashing out verbally at both of them, hurling out cutting words as he informed them that Junior had almost fainted due to their irresponsibility and selfishness. Bambam bit his lip, tears trembling in his eyes and Youngjae's face had turned white. Junior placed a hand on Jackson's arm, trying to protest weakly but he didn't seem to hear it. Instead, he ranted on until Youngjae couldn't take it any longer and rushed out of the kitchen, dropping the plastic bag on the floor. Bambam immediately turned to chase after him, calling his name.  
  
They were left alone with Momo, who was staring at Jackson like he had grown two heads. He was still breathing hard and the flames of his wrath seemed barely appeased. He growled implacably and shook off Junior's tentative hand, then promptly turned around and grabbed it again. He slid his palm up Junior's arm, feeling his skin assessingly, and Junior suppressed a shiver at how icy it felt against his feverish skin. Jackson placed his hand gently on Junior's forehead, his own creasing in displeasure.  
  
"Why do you feel so hot?" he demanded, although hot was the last thing Junior felt right now. He had been freezing all day, even though it was the middle of summer, and worn his jacket right up to the last minute before his shift started. If they were allowed to wear it over their uniform, he would have done so too.  
  
But now he just shook off Jackson's hand and his other arm encircling his shoulder, holding him upright. He was shocked by how meanly Jackson had treated the two sweet, hapless younger boys over such a minor incident, and his irritation at his overreaction was intensified by the irritability of his pounding migraine. Ignoring Jackson's exhalation of equal irritation, he stumbled unsteadily to pick up the plastic bag lying sad and abandoned on the floor.  
  
When he opened it to find not a popsicle but melon ice cream, and realised that Youngjae and Bambam had been thoughtful enough to remember his throwaway remark about his favourite flavour, it was the last straw. He gritted his teeth and turned to confront Jackson. "You didn't have to be so harsh. They didn't know I wasn't feeling well, and I agreed to help them," he said coldly.  
  
Jackson's eyes hardened at the animosity in his voice, and he didn't address Junior's remark but instead grabbed the ice cream rudely from his hand. "Don't eat that," he commanded. "It'll make your cold worse." Then he tossed it into the garbage bin.  
  
"YAH!" Junior burst out, so loudly the noises from Mark and Jaebum's side of the kitchen stopped for a moment, then resumed. His eyes were watering and probably looked red-rimmed from the sinuses but he didn't want to cry, knowing that it would make Jackson even more unforgiving towards Youngjae, who was probably out on the floor, biting his lip as he forced smiles at customers and trying not to let the tears fall.  
  
At the worst possible moment, the vertigo hit again, his knees giving out beneath him, and Junior inhaled shakily as his legs wobbled and the ground rushed up to meet him. The last thing he felt was Jackson's surprised but strong and steady arms catching him roughly beneath the knees and behind his back, hoisting him off the ground against his chest, beginning to walk towards the storage room as he snapped gruffly at Momo, "Get back to work."  
  
  
  
When he blinked awake groggily, the angle of the shadows in the dim storage room indicated sunset and evening. He was lying gracelessly and uncomfortably on a ratty old used sofa with its stuffing spilling out and springs showing, head pillowed on the armrest. Someone had dragged a chair beside him and on it was an opened bottle of cough syrup, half-empty, a sleeve of half-eaten pills, a damp washcloth and a bottle of mineral water.  
  
He tucked the medicine into his pocket, finished the water, picked up the cloth to rinse in the kitchen and moved the chair back to its original position. When he opened the door and ventured into the kitchen, then to the cafe, he found it bustling. Mark noticed him on his way and approached, looking concerned. "Are you feeling better? You had a slight fainting spell just now. Maybe it's heatstroke. Remember to stay more hydrated, okay?"  
  
As he nodded weakly, overwhelmed by Mark's care, and pushed open the door leading out to the cafe, Mark placed a light hand on Junior's forehead at the same time Jackson looked over at the sound of the door opening, from the bar where both his own hands were occupied, and their eyes met beneath Mark's hand.  
  
Something flashed across Jackson's eyes, too quickly to catch -- surprise? worry? hostility? -- and then Junior was distracted by Mark speaking to him again. "Thank god, your fever seems to have abated. But I don't think you should go back to work. Take the rest of the night off."  
  
"I want to help," he protested quietly and half-absently, his eyes still on Jackson who had shifted his gaze away completely and was now busying himself preparing drinks. Mark looked pensive, before brightening slightly. "You can help me with a batch of pretzels in the kitchen, so you won't have to walk around so much."  
  
He had not much choice but to agree, and followed Mark woodenly back into the kitchen where JB gave him an unreadable look, part concern and part mild irritation at his intrusion into the two of their territory, and spent the rest of the night mechanically twirling unbaked and still-soft pretzels into figure eights or infinity symbols, depending on how you looked at it. He wasn't feeling as romantic as he usually did tonight, but for some reason he couldn't get the simple number eights symmetrically perfect.  
  
  
  
Later, Jackson didn't hang back to wait for him as usual but instead strode up ahead with JB, his paces long and brisk. Bambam and Youngjae brought up the rear, huddling furtively together, while Yugyeom was thankfully engrossed in texting on his phone and didn't seem to notice the mildly stiff tension.  
  
"We're so sorry, hyung," Youngjae said for the nth time. "It was all our fault."  
  
"I told you it's okay, Youngjae-yah!" Junior answered for the nth time, distressed at their self-berating no matter how much he reassured them he was perfectly fine. "Stop apologizing."  
  
"Then..." Bambam hesitated, looking beseeching, "Will you forgive Jackson-hyung, too?"  
  
"What?" Junior stammered, thrown.  
  
"Momo told us you got mad at him because of us. But he didn't say anything wrong. We were irresponsible and we deserved a lesson."  
  
"Yeah," Youngjae nodded fervently. "We don't want to be the cause of awkwardness between you two, especially since you always got along so well and Jackson-hyung cares so much for you."  
  
"What?" Junior repeated blankly, sounding like a parrot, but he couldn't help himself. Jackson cared so much for him? This was news.  
  
Bambam looked surprised. "Didn't you know what he did for you? Well, I guess maybe you were asleep so you didn't see, but he ran to three pharmacies to get the medicine for you this afternoon."  
  
"Yeah, he was gone for more than an hour. Mark-hyung was hopeless at the bar and messed up like six orders but Jackson didn't even seem to care when he got back."  
  
Junior stopped walking, the bottle of cough syrup and packet of aspirin in his pocket suddenly feeling like a live weight pressing against his thigh. How had Jackson caught him unawares, ingratiating himself to Junior once again? He felt doubly indebted, and swallowed over the lump in his throat as his eyes moved to the front to watch Jackson trudging tiredly a few paces ahead with Jaebum, uncharacteristically silent and reserved like his legs were leaden.  
  
 _Thank you_ , he thought silently in his head as he looked at the back of Jackson's head, knowing he would never be able to bring these two simple words past his lips, into the charged air between them.  
  
  
  
Thankfully, the next day, he felt much better and almost fully recuperated after a good night's rest. He reassured the concerned maknaes that he was totally fit to go to work and did not need to take the day off. Jackson was still sloping around sullenly with that muteness that sat as well on him as an ill-fitting shirt and Junior realised he probably thought Junior was still pissed with him and didn't want to talk, but he didn't know how to tell Jackson that he wasn't.  
  
At the morning briefing, Mark announced that he was implementing a new regulation: from now on, no one was allowed to work straight shifts of more than ten hours, unless it was a split shift, which meant a break of one to two hours between two more manageable five-hour ones, when they could take a nap in the storage room on the rickety old sofa. He also informed them looking grateful that Nayeon had fortunately been able to enlist a friend of hers named Dahyun who was available to start work as a temporary part-timer immediately, till they were able to hire more new permanent staff. He reminded everyone to stay hydrated at all times during this hot season, and winked at Junior kindly after he finished his speech, setting him at ease.  
  
  
  
Mark took out the help wanted sign he had shelved a few months ago when they hired Junior, but they didn't expect to find eligible prospects much closer to home a few mornings later when the factory workers at their dormitory shared woefully with them that they had been laid off, due to the factory economizing in the recession.  
  
Jackson exchanged thrilled looks with Jaebum, and didn't waste a second in offering them positions at the patisserie. "Do you have experience in the food and beverage industry?" he leaned forward eagerly, and the five boys looked hesitantly enthusiastic.  
  
Yixuan scratched the back of his head. "Um... the factory we were working in manufactured biscuits. Does that count?" he asked so hopefully that Jackson could only reply with an affirmative.  
  
At this, the five boys whooped, high-fiving each other in disbelieving glee at the sheer luck of managing to find a job, and a pretty good one at that, so soon after they thought they would be relegated back to the menial and unglamorous work of passing out flyers as Yibo told Junior in a dark undertone they had spent their first few months in the US doing for lack of a better available way to make a living.  
  
  
  
Of course, Mark was delighted at how easily they had acquired five more hard workers, who already lived in the dormitory. It was decided that he would start them out as part-timers for three months before confirming them as official, permanent staff. Yibo and Seungyoun were assigned the morning shift, while Sungjoo and Wenhan took the afternoon. Yixuan was glad to be asked to help Yugyeom and Bambam out in the kitchen, where he could make full use of his culinary skills.  
  
  
  
Junior watched Jackson training Yibo to help him out behind the bar during busy periods, Jackson's conscientious eyes leaving nothing out as he briefed Yibo on every detail and his nimble hands quickly catching a stack of glasses that Yibo clumsily knocked over. Looking at them both laughing easily and bonding over it made something sour and bewildering churn in Junior's stomach. He was undeniably proud that after three months, he could now waltz around the cafe, dishing out plates left and right without stopping to puzzle over the table numbers or consult the layout tacked to the wall because he had memorized them all. But watching Jackson coaching someone else with the patience he had tutored Junior, he occasionally missed Jackson being his buddy.  
  
He had the wild thought that perhaps Jackson might be feeling the same way on another afternoon when he caught Jackson staring at him again, although it was something that had happened a number of times even before the newbies entered the bakery. Jackson's eyes always looked odd when he caught him doing this, dazed and glassy and cloudy. They were inscrutable and he always looked away immediately when Junior noticed it.  
  
  
  
Partially to avoid Jackson's watchful gaze and the pangs that spiked in his gut when he saw him ruffling Yibo's hair or pulling him into an affectionate headlock, he found himself drifting into the kitchen more during the lulls between lunchtime and teatime, and teatime and dinnertime. Since the few days after JB hurt his thumb and Mark had temporarily enlisted him into the kitchen to help out, he couldn't resist being drawn towards watching Mark in action, in his natural habitat, for obvious reasons. It was an honour to him to witness a master at work, and although it had seemed less and less important to him as time passed, he was reminded of why he had yearned so intensely to work at the patisserie, why no other place would do. He was happy being a waiter, and he had the duties at his fingertips by now, but ultimately baking was still where his heart lay.  
  
And once he had been granted access to this sacrosanct sight, once he had seen Mark expertly drizzling honey over platters of golden brown french toast and tasted the very first one of his batch of inimitable chocolate eclairs, fresh from the chiller and deliciously chilled and creamy, it was impossible to forget that bliss existed and be satisfied to go back out into the cafe and clear dreary and monotonous dirty plates once again.  
  
Luckily, Mark seemed not to mind, generous in sharing his knowledge and seeming to sense and acknowledge Junior's aptitude at baking. Mark's approval alone meant the entire world to him. He could sense himself absorbing the sheer talent in the kitchen, the prestige and wonder just by breathing the same air as Mark and JB, who he grudgingly admitted was impressively skilled as well (Though if he was more adept than Junior in some ways, it was only because he had been baking for many more years).  
  
More out of lack of choice than anything else, JB seemed to gradually warm up to him as well, no longer being so reluctant as time passed to ask Junior to help him lift this baking tray he had finished filling into the oven which he couldn't do because of his injured hand, and even starting to bossily order him around after some time. Junior wasn't surprised; JB seemed like the type to have no qualms bossing people around once he was familiar with them, and he supposed he should think on the bright side and take it as a compliment that JB was less frosty with him and more familiar. He subordinated, deferred to and respected nobody except Mark, even though he didn't complain about or criticize Junior's baking skills either.  
  
A few days after the accident when JB's hand was almost nearly recovered, Mark had left the kitchen for a while to personally arrange a tray of shortbread he had just taken from the oven in the display case. JB was preparing individual servings of rich tiramisu and ordered Junior in the imperious tone he had started to take to open the bottle of alcohol for him.  
  
Junior refused, incredulously. JB's bandage was off and he was perfectly capable of opening a bottle on his own, he was just lazy. When he told JB that bluntly, he bristled visibly, eyes taking on a glint of challenge and Junior groaned, sensing the commencement of another battle of wills. JB was going to make Junior open that bottle for him, just because he could, and Junior was _not_ going to do it, just because _he_ could.  
  
When glowering, glaring and threatening didn't work, JB seamlessly switched tactics to grovelling and whining. It was getting ridiculous and Junior was debating whether to just give in and open the damn bottle just to make him stop doing that hideous fish-lips that he perhaps thought was aegyo but actually looked nightmarish. That was the scene Mark walked in on when he reentered the kitchen: Junior playfully pinching JB's lips between his fingers and telling JB this in no uncertain terms, in Korean because he didn't know how to adequately express himself in English and they had gotten accustomed to communicating in Korean increasingly the past few days anyway. It was nice to have someone to practice his Korean with so it wouldn't turn rusty, since he seldom got the chance to converse with Yugyeom, Bambam and Youngjae during working hours.  
  
Junior quickly let go, wiping his fingers on his apron. JB was still pursing his lips in that ridiculous fashion, but his straight face was abruptly restored when Mark approached them, eyes suddenly looking cooler and more distant.  
  
"I think it's about time you went back to your duties," he said to Junior unsmilingly, taking the bottle from between them and unscrewing it. "We can manage in here."  
  
"Oh... um... okay," Junior replied, thrown by his sudden impersonal and standoffish manner and the abrupt dismissal. Mark didn't spare him a glance as he left the kitchen, pouring the alcohol measuredly into the cups of tiramisu, and Junior wondered if he had unintentionally done something wrong or made a mistake. As he left the kitchen, he caught a last glimpse of JB looking slightly nervous with no hint of his mercilessness when he tormented Junior.  
  
  
x  
  
  
"A little help here, JB...?" The impatience in Mark's voice startled JB into silence from where he was teaching Junior his trademark trick to make frosting easier, showing off a little, because it was so rarely heard. Patience was one of Mark's best qualities and the one JB loved most about him. No matter how chaotic the situation they found themselves in throughout the years, he never lost his cool and that had helped JB keep his hair on too.  
  
Now, he didn't smile as JB approached him, only raised one arm to allow him into the circle of his arms casually and naturally, as if JB was just returning to his rightful place. He noticed Junior looking slightly puzzled at Mark's tone too and staring at them curiously. Well, maybe their position looked kind of weird, but Junior had only been in their kitchen a few days so it was natural he didn't know that this was a common position JB found himself in, ensconced loosely within the circle of Mark's arms as Mark's floury hands closed easily around his and he interlaced their fingers together, carefully kneading the lump of cookie dough into completion.  
  
He could smell that familiar tinge of the mixture of Mark's perspiration and the sandalwood scent of his cologne, and it set his nerves jangling and at ease in equal measure. Since the (still unsolved and unexplained) occasion Mark had given him a hickey, in addition to the peace that cloaked him when Mark stood in such close proximity, there was an added, unfamiliar element of danger.  
  
It was only Mark's seemingly utter unawareness of his entire train of thoughts that kept him functioning normally as he broke off a bite-sized nugget of the edible cookie dough and brought it casually up to JB's lips.  
  
"Open," he said, nudging the morsel gently at JB's mouth, and JB obediently parted his lips. Junior was staring at them openmouthed like he hadn't seen two guys feeding each other before, but JB was distracted by the pads of Mark's fingertips brushing against his lips, rough and soft at the same time. Mark's fingers lingered on the corners of his lips, wiping away the remaining crumbs, and JB could see from the corner of his eyes Mark's eyes rising up to meet Junior's owlish ones across the room. At the eye contact, Junior hastily lowered his head and busied himself with his prior task. JB's cheeks felt mildly feverish, perhaps because it was the first time someone else had witnessed this and it felt misunderstood, _dirty_ in some absurd way and partly because Mark had never been so demonstrative and fed JB so intimately before. When they were alone, he usually just pushed morsels into JB's mouth without even looking at him, his mind too distracted by getting the taste of the cake just right.  
  
"How does it taste?" Mark murmured into his ear, and JB squirmed reflexively, the posture reminding him uncomfortably of the hickey incident he was still trying to forget and get over. But Mark didn't allow him to move an inch, his palms placed on the counter on either side of JB caging him in and the hard length of his body pressing against JB's from behind, so JB could feel every individual pectoral muscle of his torso flush against his spine.  
  
His mind unconsciously wandered down... then quickly stopped himself, shaking inwardly as he felt a warning stirring in his lower half. He would never be able to explain it away or live it down if he got a boner right here, in the kitchen in front of Mark and Junior. So he pressed his hips against the counter, trying to angle away so his lower body wasn't touching Mark's, and hastily answered his question hoping that Mark would release him.  
  
"P-perfect," he mumbled, knowing that Mark would settle for no less. When he first started working for him, although Mark's reputation and irreproachable standards had preceded him, JB had still been impressed at his dedication to quality for every single order, how he demanded nothing less than flawlessness from himself and that every single cake he made and delivered to the front to be served to customers must not only be up-to-scratch, but also surpass expectations. His perfectionism was so exacting, so stunning that JB had felt himself unable to match up.  
  
Mark had explained to him once, that every single order for a cake that was placed was undoubtedly made for a special occasion, with happy expectations, and would live on in countless memories for years to come. Thus, the taste and appearance could not disappoint. To him, it was the least he could do for his precious, loyal and faithful customers who chose him over countless other patissiers and returned to him time and again for every special occasion in their lives because they knew they could rely on him to deliver quality.  
  
That speech alone had made JB respect him more than any of the delicious pastries he had since been blessed enough to taste firsthand, freshly out of the oven, sometimes even from Mark's very hands as he intently watched JB's reaction for his first honest and critical evaluation of the cakes.  
  
Now, Mark seemed satisfied as he finally dropped his arms, freeing JB and starting to flatten out the cookie dough with a roller, to punch perfect circles out of later to make the almond oatmeal cookies that would appear, hardened and much better-tasting than the dough after a bake in the oven. He didn't bother to try it himself, as he trusted JB's tastebuds unconditionally, which was the most profound of honours he could have bestowed on JB.  
  
Easily, he prepped the moulds, so they could be passed handily to Mark immediately once he finished rolling the dough into a smooth, even and thin flat sheet. He wasn't at all reluctant to abandon Junior, never tired of watching Mark work his magic from the sidelines. It never got old, and was always as inspiring as the very first time. When a bead of sweat trickled down Mark's temple, he immediately grabbed a paper towel and dabbed at Mark's forehead attentively, and Mark finally glanced at him and cracked a grateful smile.  
  
After they had carefully lined the circles of dough in neat rows on the baking tray, Mark gently elbowed JB out of the way, still not allowing him to use his hand for strenous work, and lifted the tray into the oven, then set the timer.  
  
He pulled off his gloves, leaning against the counter to wait, and his eyes widened as he raised them to JB's face. Then he laughed. "You have flour on your face."  
  
JB blushed, hands rising foolishly and blindly to touch his face, but Mark beckoned him to lean forward.  
  
JB was confused, knowing Mark was a stickler for hygiene and wouldn't use his hands to touch anything else till the process of handling food was over, but he leaned forward meekly. He nearly leaped back in shock when Mark's tongue darted out and gave his cheek a small lick. It wasn't gross or slobbery but for some reason his skin burned where Mark's tongue had touched, and his heart was roaring in his ears. Mark moved away, flicking his tongue over his lips and looking satisfied, but there was something raw, exposed and uncertain in his eyes that went straight to JB's heart.  
  
An awkwardly muffled cough alerted them to the fact that Junior was still in the kitchen. After a few moments of excruciating silence in which Mark and JB looked everywhere but each other, Junior excused himself muttering something about the restroom.  
  
The oven dinged mercifully, breaking the silence and Mark quickly put on his gloves and started taking the cookies out. JB watched Mark turn his back on him and had the sinking feeling that there was one more incident he had to file in with the Horrifying Hickey Hurdle.  
  
  
  
Oddly, after this incident, though JB hadn't been the one to assert himself, he started feeling an unaccountable sort of proprietariness over Mark. Although Mark hadn't explained his actions and JB hadn't asked his reasons, he started feeling unreasonably, preposterously like Mark belonged to him. Thus, he felt childishly petulant and resentful during one of the many times Junior and Mark were working together again on a task he couldn't help with his hand, and Junior was gazing up at Mark with eyes so full of undisguised idol worship in them that JB had to look away because it reminded him too painfully of himself.  
  
Mark had so many fans, both boys and girls. Fans like Junior, who were gorgeous, confident, articulate, and not awkward and socially inept like JB. Mark could have anyone he wanted, and JB couldn't see why Mark would ever, in any universe, want _him_.  
  
But then Mark would look at him with those eyes again, those hooded eyes filled with something like covetousness, something like longing, and JB would be a mess once again.  
  
He woke up one night, panicking, the words Junior had told him on the night JB confronted him about his "unrequited love" surfacing in his mind with dreadful clarity. _I wore the cologne for someone else, not you.  
  
Someone else_.  
  
JB felt chills rise on his skin and he wrapped his arms around himself, suddenly shivering. It couldn't be.  
  
The next day, he watched sullenly as Junior and Mark interacted with the kind of natural camaraderie that suggested they had known each other since they were born, instead of only a few months. JB scoffed derisively. The only thing Junior was good at was acting familiar with people he had only just met. JB himself had experienced this misfortune.  
  
When he couldn't stand it any longer and barged between them without subtlety, using some lame excuse to snatch Mark's attention back, Mark looked bemused but not displeased. With frustration, he got the sensation that the clocked had been turned back and he was back on Junior's first day of work, vying with him for Mark's gaze. The progress (if it could be called that) he and Mark had made in their relationship in the months that had elapsed seemed to have vanished overnight. He noticed that they had a tendency to do that, JB retreating when Mark advanced, Mark taking a step back when he took one forward. It felt frustratingly like running around in circles.  
  
  
  
But somehow, when he tried to rationalize to himself what Mark had done in the past few months, he seemed to hit a mental and emotional block. The misunderstanding with Junior appeared to have traumatized him more than he realised and he would rather eat worms than ever allow himself to misconstrue anyone's intentions like that ever again. Especially _Mark's_. Mark was so frighteningly important; Mark was worth ten Juniors.  
  
Maybe some people would find this nonsensical, but what could he say: he was a sensitive new-age guy.  
  
Anyway, he started feeling some kind of ownership over Mark, taking a personal interest in his affairs and well-being. They had been friends for a long time but now JB felt like they were something more, something unspoken and undefined, undefinable but tangible.  
  
"Why don't you buy a car?" he asked Mark conversationally one night when they were taking the bus back to Mark's apartment. He still begrudged Jackson for irresponsibly (in his opinion) moving out of their shared apartment and leaving Mark alone to fend for himself, even though Mark reasonably told him that Jackson wasn't obligated to stay with him and could live anywhere he wanted.  
  
Mark turned to favour him with a brief look, before replying. Now, they sat much closer in the bus, next to each other without any seats in between even though almost the entire bus was empty and they had plenty of space. Being closer felt more comfortable than being further.  
  
"I thought of it, but I don't have the spare cash to maintain one. I guess I could buy a secondhand one cheap, but gas costs a lot these days and I still have to set aside monthly payments for the mortgage on the bakery."  
  
JB's eyes widened. He hadn't known that after so many years, Mark was still paying off the mortgage on the bakery. But he knew from his experience doing the accounts that even though they appeared to be making decent profits, after deducting all the staff's salaries and the expenses for the ingredients and materials they ordered from suppliers every month, the excess was in fact negligible.  
  
"You know, you don't have to pay me so much --" he started apprehensively, but Mark cut him off firmly.  
  
"What are you talking about? I don't even pay you that much. It's the least you deserve, and the least I could offer you to stay with me." Mark looked at him broodingly, and JB couldn't argue further.  
  
After that first night, Mark had seemed increasingly reluctant to let JB sleep over, even though he never refused him outright when JB asked to. But he could sense that Mark was obviously uncomfortable and stiff, uneasy when he stayed the night. This rankled for some reason, and perversely made him want to impose his presence on Mark even more in a sadistic way.  
  
He felt hurt and uncomprehending and lost, and this made him want to unsettle and ruffle up Mark's composure in petty ways. Why had Mark touched him like that, done those things to him if he didn't like JB's presence? It didn't seem fair that Mark wanted to keep him at arm's length whenever he wished, drawing him closer at his own will. JB felt powerless and impotent, and dangerously out of control.  
  
He could no longer ignore the dreams that haunted him, consumed him and gripped him and refused to let him go throughout the nights, every night so he drifted around in the days like a half-awake zombie. He was crashing and burning and it was all Mark's fault but he couldn't hate him for it.  
  
  
  
One night in Mark's house, he woke up at some ungodly hour of the night, sitting bolt upright and panting like he had just run a marathon. His skin was covered in a sheen of cold sweat, his muscles tensed up and his cock was standing ramrod straight in a painfully undying erection, straining against his boxers.  
  
He gasped in near-agony as he rubbed at his cock roughly with his palm, pushing his knuckles into his mouth and biting down so hard he tasted blood to muffle the noises he was making. But no matter how many times he shoved his hand beneath his waistband and tugged at his erection, his cock would only stiffen impossibly further when he thought of Mark dozing artlessly, just one thin wall away. He wondered how he had ever thought that staying alone with Mark, under one roof, could be a good idea.  
  
He held his hand shamefully over his groin as he stumbled out of the room, not bothering to try to tug his jeans up over his bulging crotch and thankful for the darkness of the apartment as he crept soundlessly with shame permeating his every pore towards Mark's room, turning the knob softly.  
  
He swallowed a gasp when it gave, heart starting to thump and blood rushing to his head and other parts of his body he did not want to think of. The sight of Mark, sprawled peacefully and carelessly across the bed, his arms flung out like an adolescent boy, stopped him cold. A wave of cold fear washed over him. What was he doing? He had to stop before it was too late, before he ruined everything.  
  
But who was he kidding? He couldn't stop. Maybe subconsciously, this had been his motive since he started brazenly staying over despite Mark's discomfort. Maybe his filthy mind had plotted this all along without his knowledge.  
  
He was nearly sobbing by then, overwrought and his erection a physical ache that was draining the rest of his body of all sensation. It seemed like he was guided only by his cock and sheer lust as he made his clumsy way towards the bedside chair over which a sweatshirt he had seen Mark wearing a few times to work in the morning was draped.  
  
He inched forward, biting his lip so as to make no noise, and his breath hissed out in relief when his hand closed over the sweatshirt. Hastily, he clutched it to his body, holding it awkwardly over his crotch (though he didn't know why he was doing that as it would be pretty much game over if Mark woke up now) and made his agonizing way back out of Mark's room, towards his own.  
  
Not wanting to dirty Mark's sheets and feeling certain he would make a mess, he sunk down gingerly against the side of the bedframe, leaning back and sitting with his knees up and legs apart. He was breathing harshly by now, the scent of Mark's sweatshirt seeming to be ten times as strong, infiltrating his senses and making the world spin dizzily. He could barely close his left hand over his still amazingly-as-rigid cock, muffling the involuntary gasp that spilled from his lips at his own touch, his other hand still fisted over Mark's sweatshirt.  
  
He tightened his grip on his cock and moved his hand up and down the shaft a few times, almost passing out at the friction. He had to quickly end this if he didn't want to be discovered, or it seemed possible his erection would last the whole fucking night. Like an addict, he swiftly brought the bunched up fabric of the sweatshirt up to his nose and inhaled greedily.  
  
This time he did sob out loud, like he had thrust himself into Mark's presence, buried himself entirely in Mark's all-overpowering scent. Uncontrollably, he gave himself a few hard strokes, his body jerking up and hips thrusting into his fist spasmodically. He felt a warm heat pooling in his groin, sparks tingling along his entire body, and his head fell back, mouth open as his eyes fluttered closed over fireworks exploding blissfully behind his eyelids. He was close, so close. Just a few more strokes...  
  
"JB?" he heard, and his heart stopped as his eyes flew open to see Mark standing in the hallway, one side of his oversized sleep-shirt sliding off his bare shoulder, hair tousled adorably as he rubbed one eye with a hand. Looking for the first time in the years they had known each other like JB's most terrifying nightmare.  
  
"What are you doing?" Mark murmured in his low, sleep-husky voice. "Is that my sweatshirt?"  
  
Uncontrollably, unstoppably, JB felt his hips stuttering, his entire body convulsing and shuddering in a wave of melting pleasure as he came violently, copiously, all over his hand and stomach and Mark's carpet and sweatshirt. He didn't even have time to grab tissues and ended up using the sweatshirt to catch most of it so he wouldn't ruin the carpet as well. The tip of his cock felt swollen and hypersensitive when he accidentally brushed the material of the sweatshirt against it, making a tremor ripple through his body like lightning.  
  
When it was over and the aftershocks were trembling through his body, he braced himself, steeled his heart, and forced himself to look up into the doorway.  
  
Mark was no longer there.  
  
  
x  
  
  
The day Jackson had slept over, the moment he found out that Junior's room was beside JB's, he had immediately declared that he would be staying in the dormitory from now on and that he would be taking over Junior's room, in a voice that brooked no argument.  
  
Junior protested feebly, but mostly just on principle. Part of him was relieved to be able to escape JB's snoring and finally be able to get the beauty rest he needed. If that was what floated Jackson's boat, so be it.  
  
So he gave up the room without much fuss and moved to the last room on the corridor, beside Yugyeom's. However, he was astonished the next day to be presented ceremoniously with a pair of pink earmuffs from Jackson.  
  
He shoved it brusquely at Junior. "Didn't you say JB snores?" He looked impatient.  
  
Junior was confused. "But, uhh... my room is now two rooms away from his? I think you might need it more."  
  
Jackson looked confused, then sheepish. He scratched the back of his head. "In case you can still hear him...? I have another one of my own."  
  
In the end, Junior took pity on him looking so plaintive, like a sheepdog, and accepted the gift graciously. Jackson looked delighted.  
  
  
  
As the days passed, he started getting used to what Jackson as a dormmate meant: waking up and stumbling half-asleep into the bathroom only to emit a high-pitched shriek when he saw Jackson standing at the toiletbowl and peeing unabashedly, his dick in his hands, and Oh _God_ , Junior had been thankful not to wake up with a morning erection for once but just thinking of Jackson's dick in his hands and the briefest fleeting glimpse he had caught of it (dammit, he should have looked longer before he screamed) was enough to make him flee back to his room with a suspiciously tented crotch and a raw throat.  
  
It meant, when not walking in on him half-naked below, then walking past him on the corridor in the morning half-naked on top, clothed in a fitted black wifebeater that left nothing to the imagination. His hair was sleep-tousled, eyelashes fluttering with boyish drowsiness. His upper arms looked so ripped, as thick and sturdy as tree trunks, his shoulders breathtakingly broad, pecs chiseled out of glass, but the look in his eyes was so guileless and filled with genuine pleasure at seeing Junior first thing in the morning that this contrast went straight past all his defenses. He hadn't shaved yet and looked slightly different, manly and scruffier with a five o'clock shadow in a way that made Junior's heart race faster.  
  
When he started speaking, voice like bass and sandpaper, Junior screeched like a banshee and sprinted back to his room.  
  
It meant meeting Jackson on the corridor at night, coming out of the communal bathroom fresh from his shower, nothing but a towel knotted loosely around his waist and hanging precariously low, exposing the curve of his hipbones. Junior barely realised that his eyes were roving hungrily down Jackson's body to where the faint shadow of his happy trail ended, like he was a man in the Sahara Desert and Jackson was water, till Jackson cleared his throat nervously and tugged the towel up around his hips. He attempted his trademark smirk but ended up blushing.  
  
Junior was aghast at his conduct. He forced his eyes down, but that only brought them level with Jackson's crotch, where Junior swore he could see the outline of Jackson's dick straining against the towel and God, it looked so mouthwatering it was all he could do not to kneel down right there and then and mouth along that flaccid cock, ghosting hot breaths over the cotton of the towel till Jackson's cock stirred, his hands reaching down to twist themselves in Junior's hair as his hips flexed and grinded against his mouth.  
  
He swallowed loudly, licking his lips as he raised stricken eyes to Jackson's wide ones.  
  
This time, Jackson was the one who hightailed it to his room.  
  
  
  
It meant discovering at twenty-four a newfound fetish for facial and body hair.  
  
  
  
It meant seeing him in skinny jeans -- but wait, Junior realised he would've seen this at work anyway even if they hadn't been living together -- but _no_ , it was seeing him in those skinny jeans with the rips at the knees, sucking on a lollipop as they walked home from work, Jackson's collar unbuttoned to show his porcelain-white clavicles, pale skin that almost glowed in the moonshine. Junior thought ludicrously that in the starlight his hair looked like the bales of silken gold Rumplestiltskin had spun in that fairy tale. He wanted to become that cherry lollipop; to sink to the ground, begging on his knees and laving his hungry and wet tongue over the bare skin exposed by those rips, till Jackson was gasping his name breathlessly, till Jackson's mind was filled with Junior the way Junior's mind was consumed by him.  
  
Junior knew that he was headed for danger, that he was playing with fire, that he needed to stop. At night, he lay in bed with his fists curled, fingernails digging into his palms and forced himself to remember in painful detail all the crushes that hadn't worked out, or worse, had ended in disaster, all the relationships and friendships he had made awkward with his one-sided feelings and all the workplaces he had to leave with his tail between his legs because he had ruined everything with his confession and it could no longer be pieced together.  
  
It wasn't that he didn't know he needed to cut himself loose before it was too late. But Jackson made it so difficult.  
  
  
  
Because living with Jackson also meant hearing footsteps behind him on the morning he had woken up early to prepare food for the other guys in the dormitory, making the kimchi from scratch and distributing the _banchan_ \-- sweet anchovies and spicy radish and potato salad and mixed vegetables into individual saucers to be eaten alone with the fragrant jasmine steamed rice and a simple soup or side dish.  
  
Jackson stole his glasses just as easily and smoothly as he stole Junior's heart that morning, quietly helping him with the cooking, yawning groggily but inordinately attentive as he warned Junior to be careful of the hot pot. Putting on Junior's oversized nerdy chic glasses, he looked like an Asian Harry Potter (Junior had always had a secret crush on the dorky boy wizard and used to read self-insert OC/Harry fanfics as a teenager) and about seventeen times more gorgeous than Junior's geeky image when he himself wore them.  
  
  
  
It meant opening his door at a series of knocks at night to see Jackson standing outside with his portable kettle and two cups of instant ramen, kimchi-flavoured even though Jackson didn't really like spicy stuff, because he knew Junior liked it. Jackson invited himself into Junior's room for these sporadic, random midnight suppers, and never mentioned including anyone else as Junior closed the door behind them. It felt like their own, intimate secret, and he was flattered with warmth.  
  
By the flickering orange glow of the kerosene lamp Junior had found dusty and abandoned in the closet of his new room, they slurped up ramen in companionable silence, Jackson's still-damp hair falling matted into his dark eyes and smelling so invitingly of shampoo and lavender soap Junior scorched his tongue scarfing down the noodles too frantically.  
  
By now, he was learning that there wasn't a single dull day with Jackson around. He was always full of mischief and pig-headed plans and a sense of adventure, brassy and frisky, loud and noisy and hyperactive. He shone brighter than brilliantine and when he smiled that infectious, contagious enormous and dazzling smile, or laughed that ridiculously delighted laugh, Junior felt his entire being ache with want.  
  
  
  
Junior wondered how much truth that urban myth that said the longer one lived together with a person, the more disillusioned one would be about their attractiveness, because he had cohabited with Jackson for weeks now, and Jackson was still sparkling like a shoujo manga hero.  
  
  
  
He acted like one, too. Sometimes, at least.  
  
"Don't get your pretty hands dirty with rough labour," he said brusquely on the day the monthly supplies arrived, easily lifting the heavy cardboard box Junior was carrying out of his hands and helping him hoist it to the storeroom. Junior couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or not, but he blushed anyway.  
  
He didn't seem to mind getting his own hands dirty as he interceded Junior at the back door where he was dragging the large black plastic garbage bag to the Dumpster, although he had offered to recommend his favourite manicurist to Junior soon after they met because his nails were in "deplorable shape".  
  
He knew Jackson wasn't being ironic but seriously pissed off one afternoon when a table of customers slipped out of the bakery without paying for their meal, and he chased them for more than five streets, eventually returning empty-handed and more irate than ever. "If they ever show their faces to me again, I swear..." he muttered under his breath until Mark told him to forget it, there was nothing they could do.  
  
  
  
One afternoon during his split shift break he nearly laughed out loud when he walked into the storage room to see Jackson perched on the sofa, clipping coupons like a housewife.  
  
"Oh, hey." A slow smile of pleasure spread across Jackson's face when he looked up to see him standing there. "Mark sent me to the supermarket to get some supplies we're short on. Wanna tag along?"  
  
The "supermarket" turned out to be a megastore, a giant three-storied warehouse that boasted of selling everything under the sun you could think of. No one batted an eyelash when Jackson climbed into the trolley and demanded Junior to push him along the aisles, calling, "Faster! Faster!" like a child and squealing as he felt the wind on his face; or when he practically lifted Junior into the trolley later and zoomed off so speedily Junior couldn't even climb out or do anything but shriek hysterically. After they had finished the shopping list for work, Jackson whipping out his coupons like he was a certified granny, he had an idea. "Don't you need some new clothes? I see you wearing the same stuff everyday. Not that you don't look good in them, but..." Jackson muttered the last part, his voice trailing off so Junior had to strain to hear.  
  
"Um..." he checked his wallet, torn between wanting some long overdue retail therapy and the reality of his finances. "I guess I can get a few items if they're on offer."  
  
Jackson whooped as though his day was made and promptly wheeled Junior recklessly down the men's aisle of the clothes section. His fingers swept expertly over the racks as he picked out fitted t-shirts with funny sayings and cute pictures and jeans which had so many rips in them Junior gasped scandalously and skintight jeggings that Junior couldn't imagine a twelve year-old girl fitting into, much less him.  
  
Jackson dumped everything into the trolley gleefully, on top of him. He flailed and sputtered under the deluge of fabric. "Stop! I don't have enough money," he yelled.  
  
Jackson was trying on a bright blue cap, looking unperturbed as he angled his face in front of the mirror to examine it. He tossed it back into the trolley too.  
  
"Relax," Jackson drawled, trying on a pair of oversized sunglasses and peering over the rims at Junior like Lolita. He reached into his pocket and whipped out his impressively thick wallet. "I do." He winked sleazily.  
  
"Oh my god," Junior breathed, half-aghast, half-turned-on. "You're such a daddy."  
  
Jackson stopped pushing the trolley and turned to face him, the sunglasses slipping from his fingers. "What?" His face drained of colour, before two bright pink spots appeared on the apples of his cheeks.  
  
"Holy shit." Junior couldn't believe what he was seeing. "Do you have a daddy kink?"  
  
" _No!_ " Jackson protested vehemently, flinching at the very word.  
  
"Daddy," Junior drawled, then teasingly, "Daaaaaddy."  
  
Jackson closed his eyes in acute pain. His face was flaming. Junior wanted to touch his cheeks to see if they felt as warm as they looked but he sat on his hand instead.  
  
"Please," Jackson moaned in anguish, "Stop saying that word." Junior noticed that he had grabbed a jacket from the trolley and quickly tied it around his waist so it hung over his crotch and shielded it, like he wanted to hide something. He passionately wished for the courage to lift the hem of the jacket and scrutinize Jackson's crotch like he had longed to since that day at the toilet.  
  
Who would've thought that Jackson of all people would have a daddy kink? Junior was cackling madly inwardly, gears of his mind furiously spinning, plotting how to use this information for his own purposes in future (purposes besides jerking off, that is). He had more or less reconciled himself to the fact that he was nursing a raging, unreciprocated infatuation on Jackson -- Junior had never been one to stay in denial for long -- but somehow, he justified it by telling himself that as long as Jackson never found out, it was something that never needed to be unearthed, to come to light.  
  
  
  
He ended up paying for most of the clothes, with the cash he had earned so far and saved up since he had free lodging at the dorm. Jackson paid for the cap, though, and he smiled as he thought of this while fitting it onto his head the next day, tucking his bangs beneath the rim. How would Jackson react when he saw him wearing it?  
  
During the morning shift that day, two giggly teenage girls jokingly hit on him, and a few more other female customers than usual smiled flirtatiously at him or checked him out with interest. He was amused and flattered, adjusting the brim of the cap proudly. It must be a magical chick-attracting one or something.  
  
But it was when one of the customers, an older, elegant office lady, gave him her number scrawled on a napkin with the words _Call me_ , that seemed to be the last straw for Jackson. He marched out of the bar and rudely snatched the cap off Junior's head, messing up his hair. "Hey!" he protested loudly, quickly smoothing it down with his hand in annoyance. "What are you doing?"  
  
Jackson stuck his tongue out childishly at him, and darted nimbly out of his reach. "I'm confiscating this," he announced. "You're not allowed to wear headwear at work."  
  
When Junior asked Mark if this was true later at break, Mark frowned and said, "I've never heard of this regulation." Junior felt deceived and outraged.  
  
Just then, Jackson strolled in wearing the cap jauntily on his head. Junior opened his mouth to blast him with rants, but found himself absolutely speechless, because there was something about the bright polyester blue of the cap contrasting with the platinum white-blond of Jackson's hair that was so _aesthetic_ it took his breath away.  
  
It was night when they were walking home when he could finally bear to see the cap separated from Jackson's head. "Why are you wearing headwear with the uniform then?" he demanded, pretending like he had just noticed.  
  
Jackson smirked at him, eyes gleaming like he knew exactly what Junior was thinking. "I'm a special exception," he said, then before Junior could point out the lack of sense of that statement, silenced him by plucking the cap off his head and tucking Junior's hair back into it gently, behind his ears. Junior shuddered as Jackson's callused fingers caressed his earlobes briefly. Jackson had pulled the brim of the cap low over his eyes, so he couldn't see his face, but the touch on his skin seemed to radiate as much heat as the warmth of his cheeks.  
  
  
  
He retired the cap from work the next day, figuring it wasn't worth the fuss and he would just wear it in private. During lunch break, Jackson was once again so absorbed in tinkering with his syrups and shakers that he couldn't tear himself away to join the rest of them for the staff meal. Junior heaped some food into an extra plate and carried his own plate over to perch on one of the barstools, leaning forward eagerly with his chin on his palms to watch Jackson.  
  
He smiled in gratitude to Junior, and took a bite of the food Junior had brought. "What are you making today?" Junior inquired curiously, and Jackson looked pleased by his interest.  
  
"Mark told me to come up with some new drinks to spice up the menu, so I'm experimenting." He flashed Junior a lopsided smile. "I'm working on a drink inspired by you right now."  
  
"Inspired by _me_?" Junior gasped like a fish out of water.  
  
Jackson's smile broadened. "Yeah, its called a Junior latte."  
  
"Oh my god, that sounds so weird." Junior covered his face to disguise how thrilled he was. "Please don't call it that. It's gonna sound like customers are drinking me." He pulled a face.  
  
"I'd like to," Jackson murmured huskily, and Junior spit out his mouthful of food. " _WHAT?_ "  
  
"Nothing," Jackson replied serenely, smiling angelically. He was as cool as a cucumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this chapter was completely inspired by fly which im so hyped up for it might actually be my fave got7 comeback ever, at least its the first one i replayed numerous times immediately because its such a jam. really hoping this is their breakout hit pls give my boys the music show wins they deserve korea <3 this chapter is dedicated to sonia, lanvlotus (who inspired the "jackson was as cool as a cucumber" line lmao) and dreams_about_sky :3 also im afraid this fic is turning out to be kind of a slow burn so im estimating it might take a few more chapters to finish, sorry for the misleading info and thanks for your patience if you're still reading! :)


	5. Chapter 5

Junior didn't give the incident any more thought, but a few days later he nearly tripped over his own feet when he walked into the bakery to see the chalkboard above the bar proclaiming cheerfully: "Today's Special -- New Menu Item: Junior latte!!!" surrounded by countless illustrations of thumbs-up emojis and a large indulgently-drawn picture at the top of a cup with latte art on top.  
  
He was squinting at the design on the chalk-drawn foam when Jackson sauntered up. "Don't judge," he deadpanned. "My hands are good at everything except drawing." He emphasized the word _everything_ with a leer, making a crude gesture in case his meaning wasn't clear. Junior was so appalled he lost the power of speech for a moment.  
  
Taking his silence as impressed awe, Jackson continued smugly, like he was doing Junior a favour, "Would you like to try your latte?"  
  
Five minutes later, Junior found himself with a cup in his hands, staring down at the latte art delicately whorled over the toffee-brown foam, wafting up an admittedly tempting fragrance of caffeine and something sweet, like slightly charred sugar.  
  
"Is this supposed to be me?" he finally squawked, looking up at Jackson incredulously.  
  
Jackson preened like a peacock. "Uncanny resemblance, isn't it?"  
  
"NO!" Junior wailed. "This just looks like a cat. What's with the whiskers?"  
  
Jackson chuckled and shrugged. "You have whiskers."  
  
"Lies!" Junior gasped with scandal, hands reaching up involuntarily to touch his cheeks anxiously, but Jackson unexpectedly whipped out his phone and pointed it at him. "Smile," he demanded.  
  
"What the -- no."  
  
Jackson's smile turned threatening, and before Junior knew what he was doing he was lunging forward, sliding his phone onto the counter and going for Junior's sides with both his hands. Junior shrieked in shock as Jackson's fingers found his sensitive spots, but as he started tickling mercilessly his squeals turned into uncontrollable laughter. Without warning again, Jackson let him go, snatching his phone up switfly and snapping a picture. "Jackpot," he muttered triumphantly, looking pleased as he studied the screen.  
  
Junior gasped breathlessly, trying to stop laughing and grabbed the phone rudely out of his hand. The picture was remarkably well-taken even though he had been in motion, and Jackson looked cocky and vindicated as he pointed out Junior's cheek on the screen with his finger. "See, whiskers."  
  
Junior sputtered, but couldn't deny the existence of the creases fanning from his eyes when he laughed too vigorously, which did look like eye-whiskers now that Jackson mentioned it. He felt light-headed at the thought that Jackson had been watching him laugh and smile, enough times to know, even better than Junior himself, how he looked when he did.  
  
To divert attention from the rosy blush growing on his cheeks, he quickly started clumsily moving his thumbs over the screen of Jackson's phone, till Jackson tried to snatch it back, alarmed. "What are you doing?"  
  
"Delete it," Junior panted, breathless from not just the minor scuffle.  
  
"No." Jackson pouted and set his lips in a firm line, holding the phone out of Junior's reach. "I'm going to set it as my home screen."  
  
"Why?!"  
  
"So I can see your stupid face everyday."  
  
  
  
Jackson made a noise like an outraged turkey when he realised that in their altercation, Junior had totally neglected to drink the latte which was cooling fast on the counter, and promptly proceeded to make a fuss until Junior obediently picked up the cup and started sipping under Jackson's intent gaze. Jackson's eyes looked so eager to hear his verdict, as if everything hinged on it, that he was mollified.  
  
So he didn't bother to disguise the impressed approval on his face, the sheer culinary delight of the unique and refreshing taste of the drink. It wasn't difficult to like any of Jackson's concoctions, because they were all mouth-watering.  
  
Watching his face so closely, Jackson seemed able to sense the positivity of his reaction and Junior watched his face visibly brighten. His opinion seemed to mean an inordinately large amount to Jackson, and though it was probably because this drink was "inspired" by him, Junior suddenly felt bashful.  
  
He cleared his throat, swallowing the last drops down his throat and relishing the pleasantly sweet aftertaste. He wasn't being biased because of the name, but Jackson had really outdone himself on this one. So when Jackson said earnestly, "It's good, right?" he just nodded and smiled. Jackson lit up like the sun.  
  
"What did you add?" he asked curiously, wanting to know if his tastebuds (which he had always prided himself on being able to identify ingredients in cakes and pastries) were still as accurate as ever. "There was a bit of liquor, right?"  
  
Jackson nodded, looking impressed. "Just a few drops of Bailey's Irish Cream. You have a good tongue." Then realising what he just said, blushed vigorously and quickly backpedaled, "I mean, good tastebuds." He stammered over his words, lashes veiled adorably over his eyes.  
  
"Relax, I got it," Junior chuckled, feeling proud to have turned the tables for once and being the one to send the characteristically unflappable Jackson into a fluster. He noticed that lately, he had begun to find it easier to ruffle and shake up Jackson, and wondered what that meant. He felt mildly guilty and hoped he wasn't in any part responsible for Jackson's multiple cigarette breaks during working hours -- but not enough to stop.  
  
"What else did you add?" he enquired calmly, and Jackson returned to himself nervously. "I liked the texture of the drink. It was crunchy, maybe malt or chocolate chips...?"  
  
"Crushed peanuts." Jackson smiled. "To represent your gritty and unpredictable personality. The base was actually just a regular butterscotch latte, but I altered it by mixing in some eggnog." He seemed to gain momentum as he enthusiastically explained the process of creation.  
  
Junior was surprised. He hadn't thought Jackson had put so much thought into the drink, that the various ingredients had any deeper meaning or represented anything other than complementing each other to taste good. He hesitated. "What do the rest of the ingredients represent then?"  
  
Jackson smiled like Junior had taken the bait by asking this question, but he looked slightly embarrassed as he countered without missing a beat, "Obviously, butterscotch is decadent and buttery and sweet, eggnog is kind of sour and liquor is... intoxicating."  
  
Junior balked. "Did you just call me greasy and sour?" His voice grew shrill, not sure what to make of the _intoxicating_ part.  
  
Jackson didn't stop laughing for the next half hour.  
  
  
  
Surprisingly, the drink was a runaway hit with the customers that morning. Or maybe not surprisingly, because Jackson's new menu items were always well-received. Just like this latte, he always managed to think of the most unlikely combinations of ingredients that seemed impossible to worked together, and yet the end result of the magical ratio he combined them in tasted impossibly good.  
  
After the fifteenth customer who had taken one look at the latte art, then his face and his name tag had excitedly asked if he had any relation to this latte, he trudged to the bar in tired embarrassment, not used to such attention. Jackson promptly slid him a cup that Junior knew by now without looking was made under the table for him. He took it gratefully, but winced before tentatively opening the paper cup in the back alley, dreading to see his "face" staring back up at him again for the fiftieth time that day.  
  
When he opened it, though, he was pleasantly surprised to find no fancy latte art, none of Jackson's showy and elaborate designs or cheesy pick-up lines -- just a plain Junior latte, just hot enough to warm up his chest, with less eggnog and more butterscotch so it flowed down his throat smoothly, a sweet heat.  
  
  
  
The next day was Bambam and Youngjae's rare day off together, and when Junior asked them where they were going to have fun, Bambam replied that they were going downtown to get Jackson a present.  
  
"Is his birthday coming?" Junior asked cluelessly.  
  
Youngjae nodded. "It's tomorrow, didn't you know?"  
  
He proceeded to spend the entire day at work in a tizzy, absentminded and scatterbrained, keying in a few orders wrongly. Jackson only smiled understandingly when he asked him sheepishly to remake them, and that made Junior feel even worse. What special thing could he do for Jackson's birthday, to express to him how much Junior treasured his warm friendship and help the last few months?  
  
The next morning, Jackson walked into the steamy kitchen area at the dorm where Junior was already sweating in the humid aroma from the simmering pots, having started cooking an hour ago when the sun wasn't even fully up.  
  
"Why didn't you tell me you were cooking today?" Jackson asked in concern, stifling a yawn. His hair was sticking up on top in electrified tufts and he was too adorable for Junior to bear looking at him.  
  
He ushered Jackson out of the kitchen, muttering that he was nearly done. When he gingerly toted the tray of a heaping bowl of seaweed soup towards the table Jackson had sat down at, walking slowly to prevent the soup from sloshing out, Jackson leaned forward in anticipation but peered doubtfully at the cloudy soup as he picked up his spoon. "What's this?"  
  
"You're turning twenty-five today, right? In Korea, this is a birthday tradition." He smiled encouragingly, eager for Jackson's rating on the soup.  
  
"How did you know?" Jackson blushed slightly, flattening his hair with a hand. "Dammit, Bambam, that big mouth..."  
  
"It wasn't his fault, I asked him!" Junior quickly and instinctively took the defense, but Jackson looked at him appealingly and groggily, clearly remembering the same incident as him.  
  
"Let's not fight about those brats again." He sounded pleading.  
  
"Let's not fight _today_ ," Junior corrected gently, and Jackson beamed in agreement, taking a big spoonful of the soup and gulping it down enthusiastically.  
  
"Um..." Junior leaned forward breathlessly. "... It tastes kind of... weird."  
  
Junior swallowed in disappointment. So it wasn't just him. And almost every other guy in the dormitory who had tasted the soup that morning.  
  
But then he heard slurping sounds, and looked up in disbelief to see Jackson wolfing down the soup like it was the best meal he'd ever tasted. When he was done with the huge bowl, he dropped his spoon with a clink and sighed with satisfaction (or relief?).  
  
"It wasn't that bad," he said, shooting Junior a shy sideways smile, and Junior proceeded to melt shamelessly.  
  
  
  
To make up for the unsuccessful seaweed soup, Junior was determined to make something he was good at making for Jackson, the way Jackson always thrilled and spoiled and pampered his tastebuds with his decadent drinks. And the only thing he was good at was, of course, baking.  
  
That evening, he asked Mark politely and hopefully if he could use the kitchen after closing, for some personal baking. He thought Mark would refuse, but he just looked at Junior for a few moments with a knowing smile, then said easily, "Sure." Junior's head spun from how unbelievably easy it had been as he walked off after profusely thanking Mark.  
  
He was planning to walk home himself after he was done locking up with the keys Mark had entrusted him, but when Jackson heard of his plans he insisted on staying behind to accompany him. Junior swallowed; this wasn't part of his scheme. How on earth was he going to bake Jackson's birthday cookies with him breathing down Junior's neck?  
  
After all the staff had left, JB departing with Mark, Junior knuckled down to work and tried to forbid Jackson to stay outside the kitchen and leave him alone till he was done, but Jackson insisted with equal stubbornness that whatever Junior was doing, he was sure he could help and "two pairs of hands were better than one".  
  
Junior sighed heavily and finally gave up on chasing him out. He sulkily kept mute as he prepped the ingredients and started whisking egg whites methodically, peeved because his perfect plan was ruined once again by Jackson.  
  
Jackson was bouncing off the walls even though it was nearly midnight, peering over his shoulder and getting in his way as he careened around the kitchen like a hyperactive toddler.  
  
Until he gathered Junior was baking a batch of cookies and asked brightly, "Who are you baking this for?"  
  
"I can't tell you," Junior replied wearily, not looking up from kneading the dough. He wiped his sweaty forehead with a clumsy arm and felt a streak of flour decorate his face.  
  
At his careless words, Jackson fell silent. Junior glanced at the clock. The time had flown past; it was nearly midnight and he had not yet wished Jackson a happy birthday as he had planned to casually and subtly find a chance to do before the day was over. He groaned. Nothing was going right for him today.  
  
Jackson didn't seem to notice, looking suddenly brooding in a way which made Junior feel worse, though he couldn't possibly be upset about the same thing as Junior. He probably didn't expect anything else after the seaweed soup.  
  
Jackson continued to slope around the kitchen moodily as Junior slapped the dough around sloppily and pounded at it with more force than necessary. They had somehow sunk into an awkward and heavy silence. But the next time Junior irritably asked Jackson to leave the kitchen and not get in his way, Jackson didn't say a single word of protest or argument and instead obediently lumbered out of the kitchen.  
  
  
  
Junior's breath caught in his throat one hour later as he stepped out of the kitchen. It was dark in the closed cafe area outside and for a sinking moment he thought Jackson had left, really left him alone as he had asked. But then he caught sight of his figure slumped against the wall, sitting in the shadows at a corner table with his earbuds plugged into his ears and absorbed in listening to music, and exhaled in relief.  
  
Jackson looked up when he approached, his eyes widening in confusion at the large baking tray Junior was holding with his gloved hands. Junior avoided his eyes shyly and awkwardly sat down on the chair opposite, placing the tray on the table.  
  
"What, do you need my help to pack it up for JB or Mark?" Jackson said snarkily, but Junior could hear the faintest tremor in his voice. He looked up at Jackson, surprised. Jackson was looking irritable and frustrated as he carded a hand through his tousled hair.  
  
"I-it's for you," he blurted out without thinking, and Jackson stopped cold, his hand falling from his hair and eyes snapping up to Junior's. "What?"  
  
"Happy birthday," Junior finally managed to say at 1.31 AM, his voice cracking a little embarrassingly on the second word. Jackson was looking at him in disbelief, his eyes stark and exposed. Junior's heart swooped at the emotion in them.  
  
"You made these... bear cookies... for me?" Jackson reached out to touch one in wonder, picking it up and studying it, like he needed to confirm if Junior had made a mistake or he heard wrongly.  
  
When Junior nodded firmly, every last shadow on Jackson's face cleared as it melted into the hugest grin ever.  
  
  
  
Later, when they were strolling back at a leisurely pace, the remaining cookies packed into a Tupperware container stowed safely into Jackson's bag, headlights flashed quickly on the deserted lane they were walking on as a driver on a midnight sojourn whizzed past. Jackson took Junior's hand hastily to pull him onto the sidewalk, and didn't let go even when the car was gone. Junior figured he was probably worried there would be more cars ahead. He found it cute and sweet when Jackson got all overprotective, like Junior was a little kid or his kid brother even though Junior was only one year younger than him.  
  
Jackson entwined his fingers with Junior's loosely, their hands fitting together easily. Jackson's hand was smoother than he expected, but he could feel the calluses from years of accidental burns and wounds that were a barista's job hazard. He thought of how many things he had seen these hands do for him since he had arrived four months ago, holding his hand right now, on this night, being only the latest and least of them.  
  
The second last had been Jackson snatching up all the bear cookies from the tray, not caring that they were still cooling as he popped them into his mouth and munched ravenously. Junior blushed with pride and satisfaction, knowing that this time Jackson wasn't pretending and didn't have to force himself to eat as he was confident in his baking skills and he had personally sampled the cookies -- they were perfect.  
  
Jackson helped him pack up the second tray he had left to cool in the kitchen after he had finished eating, happily, even when Junior told him one box was for Mark and JB and the other for the maknaes. Nothing seemed to be able to dampen his high spirits, a stark contrast from an hour ago.  
  
Junior was flattered that he could change Jackson's mood so drastically like that, with merely a simple action. He loved giving Jackson surprises not only because Jackson loved being surprised but also because he was such good surprise material, always reacting so gamely and being genuinely thrilled and thankful. He loved that he was the one who had been able to put that expression of pure boyish glee on Jackson's beautiful face, turn that frown upside down.  
  
  
  
It was a languid afternoon at the patisserie. Junior watched Yixuan approaching Dahyun, who was polishing the glass windows and front doors with wadded-up newspaper sprayed with glass cleaner, and smiling sweetly as he offered to help her wipe the parts she couldn't reach on top. Dahyun smiled back girlishly, a faint grateful blush dusting across her cheeks as she looked up at Yixuan who was showing off his tall height and long arms and legs as he reached up to the top of the door. At the hostess stand, Nayeon and Sungjoo were bantering back and forth in a lively manner. Much to Yugyeom's chagrin and dismay, Tzuyu had hit it off with Wenhan immediately, calling him _Wenhan-ge_ in an adorable girly voice she had never called Yugyeom _oppa_ with. Yugyeom looked positively shattered, and his supplies of chocolate milk were running dangerously low. The majority of the other staff had not much sympathy for him since Yugyeom was not renowned for his faithfulness, supporting Tzuyu in exacting her revenge for Yugyeom's frequent dalliances.  
  
Momo didn't seem to mind Nayeon's flirtatiousness, but whenever Sungjoo headed for the dishwasher to unload dirty dishes she always waylaid him and chatted him up, batting her eyelashes till Nayeon grinded her teeth and narrowed her eyes from the hostess stand, and redoubled her efforts the next time a hapless and innocent Sungjoo drifted by. On his part, Sungjoo didn't seem to mind having two gorgeous girls constantly flirting with him, especially when it managed to draw Wenhan's attention away from where he was helping Tzuyu with her duties.  
  
If you thought Yibo and Seungyoun hadn't been mentioned because they were the good boys, you would be tragically wrong. Because they were the only two boys all the girls flirted with, and had raging crushes on. Whether noonas or dongsaengs, customers or staff, they were all slayed alike by Yibo's devilish smirk and Seungyoun's sunny eye-smile. But the saddest thing was that -- the two boys only had eyes for each other.  
  
When Jackson dared to pipe up timidly, asking why the female stuff were so into the new male hires but treated the other seven boys as blocks of wood or furniture, Momo and Nayeon promptly bit his head off, snobbily informing him that the five new boys were much more attractive than the seven of them, which they would know if they went to look in a mirror. Dahyun and Tzuyu were too nice to say anything mean, nibbling at their food daintily, but they didn't speak up to oppose the statement either.  
  
  
  
Although he knew it was petty, Junior couldn't help feeling left out every time he heard Jackson speaking to Yixuan, Wenhan, Yibo, Tzuyu and Mark in fluent Mandarin, which Junior could tell was incredibly sexy even though he couldn't understand it. On top of outshining the other seven in terms of attention from the female staff, the five new recruits also proved to be very useful with their impressive linguistic skills, with Wenhan being fluent in English, Seungyoun in Portuguese and Chinese, and Sungjoo in Chinese. The three Chinese boys were also able to speak smooth Korean which they explained they had learnt from each other during long boring days at the dormitory. This enabled them to be able to communicate with a wider range and variety of customers of different ethnicities. Since Momo spoke Japanese too, it didn't seem like overconfidence to declare proudly that they would be able to communicate with almost any customer from any country who walked in.  
  
  
  
He felt left out in a way that had nothing to do with language when he was helping Jackson out in the bar on a rare occasion but when Jackson needed someone to help him carry a heavy bucket of ice cubes and slabs from the kitchen to the bar, he hailed Yibo from across the room. Even when Junior tentatively chimed in, "I can help --" Jackson shut him down with a curt, "It's okay, we got it." and disappeared with Yibo into the kitchen.  
  
If this was an idol drama, romance novel, or romantic comedy movie, Junior would find out that the reason Jackson didn't want to let him help to carry the ice was because he didn't want Junior to exert himself with heavy weights.  
  
But this wasn't, and Jackson wasn't a sensitive chivalrous romantic hero. So that was just a sad and pathetic fantasy Junior entertained briefly in his head to comfort himself and attempt denial against the cold hard truth that Jackson simply found Yibo more reliable and likeable than him.  
  
  
  
Junior felt his heart flopping out of his chest like a fish out of water as he watched Jackson rush enthusiastically out of the bar, abandoning his duties, as a family with two toddler-aged twins, a boy and a girl entered the bakery. Although he had never met them before, he acted like they were his own kids on a homecoming visit. He hurried to lift up the two baby chairs stowed at a corner of the cafe and carried it to the table, beckoning Junior to bring the menus with an impatient smile. Jackson would make such a doting father, Junior thought idly, watching how natural he was with the children and how effortlessly he was able to draw out their childish and gleeful laughter and smiles.  
  
Suddenly, painfully, Junior wished that he would be around to see that -- Jackson being a father. It didn't even matter to whose kids, Junior told himself, though he felt a fierce pang in his chest at this lie -- he just wanted to see how much more talented and loving and tender Jackson would be with kids of his own, because Junior knew he had that vast reservoir of tenderness inside him, untapped and waiting to be discovered. He also knew with equal certainty that the one to do that would definitely not be him. Still, Jackson deserved happiness, and Junior wanted to see him happy more than anyone else in the world, wanted this with a desire so pure and selfless and free of personal motives that he surprised himself.  
  
  
x  
  
  
For a moment, JB just sat there stock-still, his entire body cold like he had frozen into an ice sculpture. A trickle of cum dripped from the balled up sweatshirt, fisted in his palm, and that woke him up to reality. He forced himself to stand up on shaky and trembling legs, heart sinking to his stomach. A pinch on his arm confirmed that this was reality, and it was more horrifying than any of the wet dreams he had started having since the first time Mark sucked his neck.  
  
JB moved towards the ajar door dazedly on autopilot, his head still feeling light and surreal. Inwardly, he was bashing himself for not having the presence of mind to close it before he did anything, but he was just so desperate just now, that he couldn't think of anything else and the danger didn't occur to him. It served him right that he had been caught literally red-handed, unable to even find an excuse or lie that his masturbation hadn't been related to Mark. He was a fucking idiot and now Mark had probably ran away in horror to call the cops to evict JB from his house and get a restraining order on him. He realised he would probably lose his job too, but right now that was the least of his worries.  
  
He took a deep rattling breath before he stepped out of the door, bracing himself for the worst. But outside, he was surprised to find the apartment quiet, nothing amiss except for the strip of light beneath the door of the bathroom which was closed. Inside, he could hear faint noises drifting out.  
  
He edged closer, heart pounding wildly and lower body still numb with postcoital bliss. When he was a few steps away, he jumped about a foot in the air when the door abruptly swung open and then Mark was standing in the doorway of the bathroom, orange light spilling out from behind him and illuminating the way his face was beaded with sweat, his hair damp and bangs sticking to his forehead. His face was paper pale but his cheeks were flushed hotly. JB swallowed hard, his dishevelment somehow sexy.  
  
Mark's eyes moved downwards, and JB followed them. He nearly dropped the sweatshirt on the floor like a hot potato when he saw it still in his hand. He wanted to toss it away from him like a burning poker, to deny all associations with it and hope Mark would forget everything that he had seen and think it was a dream. But stupidly, he had carried it out, and now here it was in his hand, incriminating and irrefutable evidence of his sin.  
  
He couldn't take it. With a muffled sob of anguish, he spun on his heel and started to take big strides away, determined to leave with the tatters of his dignity intact before Mark chased him out with a broom. If he heard the words _I never want to see you again_ from Mark's beloved lips, JB didn't think he could stay sane.  
  
But -- "JB," he heard, in that soft-spoken, hypnotic voice, the one he could never refuse, and froze in his tracks, panicked. He heard Mark's footsteps approach from behind and squeezed his eyes shut, preparing to get hit or punched the daylights out of, and rightfully.  
  
But unbelievably, preposterously, the only thing he felt was a gentle hand on his shoulder. Mark's voice was so low behind him, so profoundly sad that it shook him to his core. "Don't go, please. We need to talk."  
  
  
  
JB didn't reply. He couldn't find his voice box. Mark kept his hand on his shoulder for awhile before reluctantly letting go, like he was forcing himself to, like he was afraid JB would dash off like the Roadrunner if he let go.  
  
When JB didn't move, he heard Mark exhale a small sigh of relief. He stiffened when he felt Mark's fingers brush the back of his hand, then realised Mark was trying to loosen the sweatshirt from his grasp, which had turned white-knuckled with tension. He jerked his hand back like he was scalded, and Mark looked wounded, but he would never in a million years allow Mark to touch his cum. (What the fuck kind of phrase was "touch his cum", why the hell was he even thinking it --)  
  
Finally, Mark backed off and told him quietly, "You can toss it in the laundry hamper." and he felt his face burning fifty shades of crimson as he robotically made his way there and dropped it inside discreetly without ever once looking at Mark.  
  
"JB," Mark said softly, cajolingly, like he was persuading a savage animal into submission. "Come here." He turned to see Mark beckoning him encouragingly from the couch where he had settled down. JB obeyed his instructions mechanically, his state of shock not yet worn off.  
  
He settled down a respectful distance away from Mark, and stared at the square of sofa beside Mark studiedly. But when Mark pleaded, "Can you look at me?" he was forced to shift his eyes towards his direction.  
  
Mark was wringing his hands, his eyes bloodshot and red-rimmed, glimmering suspiciously like they were going to spill over any second. He looked so anguished that it nearly broke JB too.  
  
"I know you probably don't want to ever see me again," Mark blurted out roughly, "But please hear me out for five minutes before you go."  
  
JB blinked, confused. Had he misheard, or had Mark gotten the order backwards? Mark was the one who didn't want to see JB again, after the disgusting sight he had witnessed.  
  
But he just nodded mutely, figuring this was the least he owed Mark after how disgracefully he had acted.  
  
"I..." Mark started, taking a deep breath, and JB took one too. His heart was slamming against his ribcage so loudly he could barely hear Mark's quiet voice over it.  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
JB's mind spun and his head swirled. That was not what he had been expecting to hear. Why was Mark apologizing to him, when JB was the one who had done something wrong? This didn't make a single bit of sense.  
  
Mark seemed to struggle with his words before continuing quietly, "This was why I didn't want you to sleep over. I didn't know if I'd be able to control myself. But I never thought that you... would be the one... I never thought of _you_."  
  
When JB raised his eyes apprehensively to meet Mark's, he was stunned by the pain and guilt and sorrow in them.  
  
Control himself? What was Mark talking about? JB opened his mouth, about to ask, when Mark spoke over him. "I knew I was hurting you, that all those things I did were wrong -- but I couldn't stop. I just couldn't." He gritted his fists helplessly by his sides. "JB... will you... could you ever forgive me?" His voice broke on the last word as he raised imploring eyes to JB's.  
  
Miraculously, JB found his voice, buried so deep inside him it sounded choked up when he rasped, "What do you mean? Do you... l-like me?"  
  
The silence stretched on so long, it was almost an answer. But not quite.  
  
His heart seemed to soar and sink at the same time when his disbelieving ears heard Mark's next words. "I... honestly don't know, JB. But I dream of you almost every night. I dream of... doing things to you. I feel so happy when you're beside me, when you talk to me, when you smile at me. I feel sad when you don't look at me. I get angry when you smile at other people. I want you... to belong only to me. I want you... to be happy. I want _you_. I think about you all the time."  
  
Mark said the last sentence softly, so softly and tenderly JB felt a part of his chest break away and soar upwards into his throat.  
Mark raised stricken, haunted eyes to him, gripping his own. "Is this love?" he murmured in wonder.  
  
JB cleared his throat, but his voice still sounded hoarse and rusty when he spoke up. "Hyung, I..."  
  
Mark looked at him, hopeful heart scrawled across his eyes.  
  
JB winced. "I-I'm sorry. I... don't know what to say... I'm so confused --"  
  
Mark swiftly lowered his eyes, but too late for JB to miss the bitter disappointment and heartbreak in them.  
  
"It's okay," he said firmly after a beat, voice shaking a little. He moved closer to JB on the couch, and JB curled his fingers into the hem of his shirt to suppress the urge to lean away. "It was my fault," Mark continued in a soothing voice. "I realised I was confusing you, tormenting you unintentionally. It was so cruel of me." His voice was so bleak and guilt-stricken that JB instinctively leaned closer to offer him support, the reliance of his body.  
  
Mark looked up at his advance, looking confused and hopeful. Hesitantly, he reached out for JB's hand, his eyes asking him for permission before he gently and reverently picked it up and held it tenderly in his own. Mark caressed the angry red bite marks on JB's knuckles, his eyes shiny. JB felt a shudder ripple through his entire body from the electric current that blazed through his nerves at Mark's light touch, but he forced himself not to pull his hand away.  
  
"You don't have to give me an answer immediately," Mark said reassuringly after a few moments. "I can wait."  
  
JB nodded gratefully and silently, thankful for the way out Mark was giving him and relieved for some reason that he hadn't closed the possibility. Mark seemed to just be grateful JB hadn't severed all ties with him, and he felt the same. His mind was still reeling violently that the theory he had thought most improbable was the one that had turned out true in the end. Although Mark had admitted it as clearly as he possibly could in words, it was still surreal, unbelievable to think that Mark, _Mark Tuan_ who had been the object of his worship since he was twenty, was in love with him. JB didn't know what to do; he felt slightly hysterical, like he might be running down the streets naked screaming manically if Mark's eyes hadn't been an arm's length away from him, reaching into his without words, calming him deeply.  
  
  
  
Absurdly and unexpectedly, they spent the rest of the night sitting on the couch, talking peacefully. It felt like the calm after the storm, or the eye of a tornado. A temporary, hazy tranquility had descended over them, and the events of the night had taken on an abstract dreamlike quality. JB was able to lose himself in Mark's low voice, as they meandered aimlessly through random topics, occasionally slipping into a silence that was not quite comfortable but not uncomfortable either.  
  
  
  
"I know how you felt -- like you were reaching the boiling point; like a rubber band on the verge of snapping."  
  
"How do you know?"  
  
"Because I felt the same way too."  
  
  
  
"I never knew... you thought about... these things."  
  
"What things? Sex?"  
  
"..."  
  
"... I'm not a robot, you know, JB. I'm just a human being, a man like you. I have desires too."  
  
"... I'm sorry for what I did. I'm sorry for being insensitive."  
  
"No, I am."  
  
  
  
"In those mangas Junior lent me, after one guy confesses to the other, they immediately get together and have hot... sex."  
  
"...?"  
  
"I'm sorry I couldn't act that way."  
  
"That's just fiction, JB. Real life is much more complicated. Besides, I have -- no interest in possessing your body, unless you give me your heart too. If I wanted to have you, I had plenty of opportunities."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
"There's no need to thank me. I told you before that I would never allow anyone to hurt you. Not even myself."  
  
"I know."  
  
"But I ended up hurting you anyway."  
  
"You didn't. I just..."  
  
"...?"  
  
"I need time."  
  
"Okay."  
  
"..."  
  
"By the way... I don't want to sound like this, but please don't bring up other guys in front of me."  
  
"..."  
  
"Especially when you look like that."  
  
  
  
They talked sporadically till 5AM, then Mark went to brew a pot of coffee. JB finally allowed himself to relax as Mark stood up and walked to the kitchen, the tension seeping out of his muscles as he leaned back against the sofa and closed his eyes.  
  
When he awoke, the pink sun was rising in the blue sky outside the window. Mark was sitting in the loveseat opposite him, keeping his distance and sipping from his mug of coffee as he read the newspaper with one leg crossed languorously over the other. When JB sat up, a woolen blanket slipped off his shoulders and onto his lap. He looked over at Mark, who lowered the newspaper and folded it in his own lap, then tilted his head at JB and smiled tentatively.  
  
JB tried to smile back.  
  
  
  
They did their best to act the same when they went back to work that day, like nothing had happened. Thankfully, no one noticed any awkwardness between them as they spent most of the day in only each other's company, in the enclosed kitchen. In the two years they had been working together, this was the first time JB realised how small the kitchen was and how difficult to navigate without bumping into each other and doing that excruciatingly awkward thing where they would both block each other repeatedly by moving to the same side till Mark placed his hands gingerly on JB's shoulders and kept him still while he stepped towards the side.  
  
But slowly -- cripplingly and agonizingly slowly but still, slowly -- the awkwardness started to fade into a dull ache, then looked hopefully like it might subside. Like the previous two incidents with the hickey and licking his face, they combinatively dealed with it by trying to forget it ever happened and move on. Still, JB was occasionally reminded of the echo of Mark's words by something as fleeting as a glance, a flash of something in Mark's eyes gone too quickly to read. _You don't have to give me an answer immediately. I can wait_. And he knew that Mark was still waiting, would wait as long as JB needed.  
  
  
  
As time passed, JB's mind was distracted by a more immediate and pressing concern -- how Mark seemed to be burying himself in work, taking on more work than he was able to handle and putting in worryingly long hours. It seemed like he was trying to work himself to the bone, down to a wisp of skin and bones. He lost weight and looked fragile as a bird, substituting meals with cigarettes and seeming to have a poor appetite.  
  
When JB broached the subject cautiously, not wanting to sound like a nagging mother hen, Mark looked irritable and jittery as he often did lately, from the cigarette fumes. JB caught him once getting Jackson to sneak him a drink from the bar, but mostly he just smoked like a fiend, his daily consumption of tobacco doubling from his previous amount.  
  
JB didn't know what to do, because when he tried to confront Mark, he always seemed to be able to slip out of his grasp like an eel, slippery and elusive. He abhorred the thought that it might be related to him, but even if it wasn't, he would be equally concerned. He had always felt Mark's health was his personal responsibility.  
  
He knew that handling and working with food twelve hours a day was an effective way to make one lose their appetite. So he tried cooking small meals separately for Mark during the staff breaks, dishes he liked to eat, and painstakingly put effort in to make them appetizing and delectable. Even then, Mark just picked at the food disinterestedly, never finishing his portion. JB didn't even entertain the thought that Mark had an eating problem for one minute. He knew what was wrong -- it was simply stress.  
  
JB knew he was the only person who could rescue Mark from this downward spiral. So he picked one of the less busy days, and sprung a surprise on Mark that morning by dragging him out of his chef's uniform, into street clothes and out of the back door into the alley.  
  
"Where are you taking me?" Mark gasped breathlessly. His cream-coloured oversized cable-knit sweater was on inside out and it was the most adorable thing JB had ever seen.  
  
Gently, he eased Mark's arms out of the sleeves, lifted it over his head and helped him pull the sweater the right way on over his shoulders again. Mark blushed, but his eyes still bored into JB's demandingly.  
  
"We're playing hooky!" JB exclaimed, trying to sound upbeat and putting on a bright smile. Mark just gaped at him.  
  
"What about the kitchen? My day off was yesterday and yours is tomorrow, JB! Can't you wait one day?"  
  
"Yeah, but they're not _together_." Without thinking, JB reached out to clasp Mark's hand impatiently, tugging him forward. Mark's hand stiffened in his grasp but he didn't pull away.  
  
"Don't worry," he reassured Mark as they tripped clumsily out of the alley, onto the main street. "I asked Junior and Jackson to handle the kitchen today." He was relieved that Mark seemed to relax a little at his words.  
  
Mark kept up his sullen silence till they reached the road junction, seeming to be reluctant to show any approval for JB's irresponsible actions. JB beamed at him, keeping his positivity undimmed. "Where do you want to go?"  
  
He expected to hear something like To browse other cake shops to do market research or To go and sample pastries from other bakeries. He didn't expect to hear Mark's soft voice saying, "The beach."  
  
"You want to go to the beach?" he repeated, and Mark nodded decisively.  
  
JB smiled, satisfied and happy. "Okay then, let's go."  
  
  
  
They ended up taking a cab to Venice Beach, where they spent an hour wading through the sand and weaving through the labyrinth of sunbathers, umbrellas, deck chairs and volleyball games before finally managing to find a relatively secluded spot hidden behind an overhanging rock wall. Mark sighed softly as he sunk down on the shifting sand, leaning his back against the wall. His face was pink with exertion, the barest beginnings of a sunburn dusted red across the bridge of his nose and cheekbones, a few freckles sprinkled over his milky skin like stardust. JB looked over at his closed eyes, long lashes splayed beguilingly across his cheekbones, and felt his heart contract.  
  
Mark opened his eyes, startling him. He seemed surprised to catch JB looking. They both looked away, and after a moment Mark said in a dreamy voice, "I wish I could show you the beaches in Taiwan. They're beautiful."  
  
"Maybe one day," JB said, and Mark smiled.  
  
"What are they like?"  
  
"They're very different from the ones here, mostly peaceful and unpolluted. My favourite was the one we went to in Kending, after my high school graduation. It was my last trip with my family before I left to go abroad. I picked seashells with my sister, built sandcastles with my brother, and then we all watched the sunset together."  
  
"It sounds lovely."  
  
"It was."  
  
"Do you miss home?"  
  
"Of course. You?"  
  
"Always."  
  
"Are you lonely?"  
  
"... Not when I'm with you."  
  
"Me too."  
  
"..."  
  
"Thank you for worrying about me."  
  
"Of course. I lo-- You're my friend."  
  
"Your best friend?"  
  
"... Yes. My best friend Mark."  
  
"..."  
  
"..."  
  
"..."  
  
"Stop smiling already, it's been ten minutes."  
  
"Sorry. I'm just so happy."  
  
  
  
"You know, you don't have to work so hard. You can share the burden with someone else. You can rely on me."  
  
"I know. But I don't want to be too dependent on anybody. What if you leave?"  
  
"I'll never leave. I promise."  
  
"You never know what life has in store. Promises aren't absolute."  
  
"But I want to help you. I want to be your right hand."  
  
"You already are."  
  
  
  
In the cab back to Mark's apartment that night (which he would take back to the dorm after dropping Mark off, since he never slept over at Mark's apartment again after the incident), Mark's head drooping as he dozed till JB gently pulled it down onto his shoulder, he remembered one of the snatches of conversation they had had that memorable night, when despite all the catastrophes that had happened earlier on, it had felt like their hearts truly connected for a few moments in the nearly dawn.  
  
He thought of Mark's mellow voice musing, "I should probably be worried that the bakery isn't making substantial or significant profits, but I'm not really. What's most important to me is that I'm doing what I love, with people I love. I'm aware that I should save up and plan for my future, but I think there's still plenty of time for that later. Right now, what I want to do most is to protect this place where all of us are working. It feels like fate that all of us met here, at this time, don't you think? When I think of that, everything else seems secondary."  
  
  
  
He had shared with JB how he had come to create the unique signature Asian-French pastries the patisserie was famous for, all those years ago back in Paris when he was in baking school and Jackson in a hospitality institute, living a continent away from home.  
  
"Jackson had a bad case of homesickness, especially missing the local delicacies in Hong Kong. So I'd make him roasted pork buns, steamed shrimp dumplings, _zhu chang fen_ and cheese-baked rice. But then I started experimenting with combining the flavours and elements of Asian cuisine with French pastries, incorporating them in ways that no one had thought of before. Instead of using milk when making croissants, I'd use _Yuen Yang_ , a drink that's a mixture of coffee and tea. I came up with Stocking Milk Tea madeleines for Jackson's dessert one night. It was a hit with my classmates and teacher. That was the beginning of how I created the inimitable brand of pastries that is our trademark now."  
  
  
x  
  
  
A little more than four months after he started working at the bakery, Mark approached Junior and informed him that his probation period was over and he could officially be confirmed as a permanent staff, if he wanted. Both of them seemed mildly astonished that three months had flown by so fast. It seemed like only yesterday, the first time Junior had tripped through the front doors of the patisserie, gawky and filled with hope.  
  
"I know this is a little late, sorry," Mark's low voice rang out by his ear, bringing him to his senses. "We've been so swamped with work that I totally forgot to mention it earlier."  
  
"It's all right!" Junior quickly waved a hand. "But... what does being confirmed constitute?"  
  
Mark smiled at him, approvingly and Junior's chest glowed with warmth. "I'd like to offer you a pay rise and a promotion."  
  
"A promotion?!" Junior gasped.  
  
Mark nodded. "How does trainee manager sound? We've been looking for a suitable person to fill this role, since the three youngest are still too young and not interested in the position. I think you'd do a good job."  
  
It was like deja vu from his past job. Junior swallowed, opening his mouth tentatively. "Actually... I'm not really interested in waiting tables."  
  
Mark looked surprised. "You're not? What are you interested in then?"  
  
Junior took a deep breath, before expelling it. "Baking."  
  
Mark was looking at him like he wasn't surprised, something clicking in his eyes as comprehension dawned. "Are you telling me you'd rather work in the kitchen?"  
  
Junior thought about his latest awkward encounters in the kitchen, with JB and Mark taking turns to be frosty for indeterminable reasons. He knew neither of them would be happy to see him intruding into the space they shared.  
  
But then he thought of the familiar feeling of the dough giving beneath his hands, malleable and airy, that sensation so missed and longed for since he had started working as a waiter. He took a deep breath and replied, "Yes."  
  
  
  
Moving into the kitchen to work (albeit only for a few hours each day, when they needed the most help -- Mark and him had settled after some discussion on an arrangement that put him partly in the kitchen baking and on the floor running food, as Mark said they still needed him a lot outside too. Junior was just grateful for even a few hours a day) changed some things. He saw Jackson less, but that didn't mean he thought of him less. When he had found out Junior's change in job scope, he looked forlorn and disgruntled, sulking petulantly for a few days like Junior had betrayed him in some way, but eventually coming around and redoubling his efforts to bother and interact with Junior during the hours he was in the cafe.  
  
Out of sight, but not out of mind -- that was how it had become with Jackson, and Junior didn't know what to do to stop himself from this continuous downward falling. Every time he thought he could finally let go of this fruitless and doomed crush, Jackson would make him waver, his resolve falter by doing something so wholly unasked for that Junior didn't even know how to react.  
  
Like one night when he was at the bar, pressing the lever down on the large hot water tank fastened to the wall at the corner, filling up a trough of the dirty rags with boiling water to leave them to soak overnight in and kill the germs. His concentration must have faltered for a while, his mind on other things, because he suddenly felt a splash of scalding hot water on the back of his hand and leaped up, nearly upsetting the almost-overflowing trough. Thankfully he didn't, but his arm flew up and the side of it hit the metal of the water tank, which was kept at a constant temperature of hundred degrees celsius and had a bright red warning light in the middle of it to warn people against touching.  
  
He was clutching at his rapidly reddening arm, distressed and panicked, when Jackson walked back in and inhaled sharply. He dashed over, grabbing Junior's arm gently and moving him away from the trough and tank. "What happened? Did you burn yourself?"  
  
Tears prickled Junior's eyes as the pain hit, his skin turning a frightening angry red, and he gritted his teeth as he whimpered, "Owww."  
  
Jackson cursed under his breath, eyes narrowing. "Why were you so careless?" he demanded fiercely. "What the hell were you thinking about?"  
  
_You_ , Junior thought forlornly, looking at him as he cradled his hurt arm and gasped in surprise as Jackson lifted him off his feet easily with his hands under Junior's arms, placing him to sit down on the counter. He moved between Junior's open legs, but not in a suggestive way, just to get closer. His eyes were tight with concern as he pried Junior's hand away. "Let me see."  
  
He heaved a soft sigh of relief after examining it closely. "Thank god, it seems superficial. Do you know you could have gotten third-degree burns from that thing?" he demanded unforgivingly, gripping Junior's shoulders.  
  
Junior felt his chin wobble and blinked back tears. Jackson's eyes softened when he whispered, "I'm sorry." With brusque gentleness, he flicked on the cold water tap on the counter beside where Junior was sitting and guided his arm slowly beneath the flow. "This might sting a bit," he warned, but Junior still grimaced audibly at the sharp serrated edge of pain when the water hit his exposed wound.  
  
Jackson got the first-aid box out and helped Junior bandage his arm with remarkable delicacy as Junior stared at his handsome worried face dully. He was thankful that it had not been his hand but his arm that had been injured, or he'd be out of business for a few days. He felt like he had narrowly escaped being scorched, a harrowing slip from the jaws of danger, but he wondered why the thought that flitted through his mind as he replied Jackson's solicitous queries and let him help him to his feet was: _Only a matter of time_.  
  
  
  
On these occasions, the thought that floated to the surface of his mind was always the same. _Don't be nice to me. I fall in love so easily_.  
  
It wasn't just a cliche Tumblr metaphor with thousands of notes, it was woefully true for him. Growing up on his diet of Hollywood rom-coms and epic Victorian romances, he had always been an unabashed and flamboyant romantic. The first time Jackson had walked into his room on the day he moved in to help him relocate his belongings, he had been obviously amused by the towering stacks of books teetering on every surface: genres crashing as trashy three-for-a-dollar bodice-rippers and Harlequin romances were mingled freely with volumes of Pablo Neruda and Emily Dickinson's poetry and Josei mangas (he had a guilty pleasure for plots of sexually repressed, smart office ladies being romanced by badass beastly mafia gang leaders) shared a nest with his favourite dog-eared copy of Gone With the Wind (which some people might categorize as a bodice-ripper too, but he firmly classified as one of the greatest works of literature).  
  
For a moment, he imagined himself as the tragic, feisty heroine Scarlett O'Hara, sitting on the porch of Twelve Oaks the first time she caught a glimpse of the mysterious, enigmatic and dashing dark horse Rhett Butler. He wondered if Jackson would ever let him live it down if Junior asked him to recite Rhett's famous line: "Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn." (for purely scientific purposes, of course).  
  
Jackson picked up one of the dog-eared and much-worn thick volumes of bodice rippers scattered on his desk and flipped through it idly (Junior prayed he wouldn't realise what the dog ears were for). He landed on a random page and started reciting a line that caught his attention: "' _The duchess felt her loins burst into flames of ardour as the mysterious, dashingly handsome stranger stripped off his tunic, revealing rock-hard abdominal muscles, his tumescent manhood visible through the fabric of his pantaloons. He smiled roguishly as he advanced towards her, dropping his britches to proudly display his weeping member in all its majestic glory_.' ... What the hell is this?" He looked disgusted and mildly traumatized, dropping the book with two fingers as if it was dirty. "You read this shit?"  
  
Junior blushed furiously. For the rest of the week, Jackson would sidle up to him with smart-ass and cringingly vulgar references to his "manhood" and "member". Junior bemoaned the day he had let Jackson see his private stash. But for some reason, after a few days of this, he couldn't take it any longer and found himself looking up one of his favourite Harry Potter slash fanfictions that he remembered reading when he was like fifteen (no, _not_ the Harry/Voldemort daddy kink one). It was titled "Cinnamon Rolls" and had just the right fluff to smut ratio. He had reread it countless times and now, found himself copying it into a word document and taking a deep breath before pressing the buttons to mass replace all the 'Harry's in the fic with 'Junior' and all the 'Draco's with 'Jackson'. As he clicked the _Replace_ button, he knew he was taking a step he could never turn back from. He had never felt as dirty as he did that night, after he finished reading the altered fanfiction in the sordid dark of his room, under the covers with his hand palming his hardening dick through the fabric of his pants. It was the first time he had ever jerked himself off thinking of Jackson, as he had strongly resisted and never acted on his numerous vivid fantasies no matter how demanding they were, but now he knew he had sunk to a new low and crossed an invisible line.  
  
  
  
The next day, Jackson barged into his room rudely without knocking again, as he did with tiring frequency, while Junior was watching the nightly Korean melodrama he was currently hooked on. The sight of Jackson on his bed, snuggled comfortably into the pillows -- the bed he had just masturbated on the previous night thinking of Jackson -- made a pocket of air constrict his throat.  
  
He pushed his glasses nervously up the bridge of his nose, swallowing a mouthful of saliva and trying to concentrate on the tiny, staticky screen of the portable secondhand television he had installed in his room and Yugyeom had helped him connect to his phone in some genius way that allowed it to play videos from streaming sites online. There weren't English subtitles, but Jackson seemed riveted, his eyes glued to the screen. Junior talked himself mentally into calming down and started to relax gradually too, his attention returning to the drama as he sat stiffly cross-legged on the other end of the bed, more than an arm's length away from Jackson. Twenty minutes later, he happened to look up, his breath catching in his throat to see Jackson sneaking a glance at him, eyes unfathomably dark.  
  
  
  
He had never thought himself especially masochistic in particular, but now he had his doubts, with the way he was continually inflicting Jackson's presence and proximity on himself. He had always scoffed when fictional characters or the tragic second male leads in dramas uttered the cliche line, "I'd rather be friends than nothing at all," but now, ludicrously, he was starting to see the logic of it. Because though it might seem senseless or dumb to an outsider for him to continue nursing his growing crush on Jackson without ever voicing it out, this tentatively advancing and fragile friendship just felt too precious to ruin with an unwanted confession.  
  
He didn't ever want to make the air between them uncomfortable, make Jackson feel the same suffocating conflict he was enduring. He would rather be the only one who took on all the pain. Every time Jackson smiled at him so guilelessly and unsuspectingly, his stomach clenched at the thought of the horror, revulsion and disgust that would most certainly fill his eyes if Junior accidentally blurted out the words that were on the tip of his tongue more and more with every day. When he went out of his way to show care and concern for Junior, Junior had to consciously remind himself not to misunderstand or misinterpret his actions, because that was just what Jackson did -- he was friendly to everybody. It was more than he could bear to think of Jackson never looking at him with those warm, soft and fond eyes that lingered caressingly on Junior again.  
  
He knew that for Jackson with his army of adoring friends that he attracted everywhere he went, he was probably interchangeable, replaceable and disposable. But to him, Jackson couldn't be replaced. Losing him was a risk that Junior couldn't afford to take.  
  
Therefore, it was cheesy but true: It didn't matter so much in what capacity, as long as he got to stay by Jackson's side.  
  
  
  
But every time he felt himself slightly able to swim out of the fish pond of his infatuation, into the bigger ocean, a tug on the hook lodged painfully in his mouth reminded him that Jackson was still keeping him on a line, able to reel him back in any second he wanted.  
  
For example, with things as simple as him walking past Jackson's open door on the way back to his bedroom and nearly collapsing of blood loss there and then to see him topless and doing push-ups on the floor, his defined back muscles rippling across his broad shoulders as he switched hands and held himself up by one hand, then two fingers, showing off like he knew he was being watched. Junior oogled unabashedly the sweat glistening on his skin, which looked more tanned and golden-bronze in the light falling in from the window, stretched smoothly and taut over his shifting musculature. It had to be illegal to look so much like Mr Universe if you didn't actually hold the title.  
  
When he felt the familiar warmth in his stomach pooling, he frantically blurted out, "YAH! Put that away!" and skittered back to his room like wolves were chasing him before Jackson could turn around and get up, showing the front of his bare torso too, but not quickly enough to miss the glimpse of Jackson jumping at the sound of his voice and crashing down hard on the ground. Junior could hear his anguished shouts of "I think my finger is broken!" all the way from his room and groaned, hitting his forehead against the wall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if anyone of you guys read lagoon too, you might be interested to check out this absolutely gorgeous [fanart](http://eksofora.tumblr.com/post/141751544566/all-he-thinks-is-that-this-tall-swarthy-guy) my friend made for it ;~; (if you like it, please support her with a like or reblog as she spent many hours on it! :3) also, i want to thank one of my favourite readers and commenters daria for this beautiful and adorable [fanart](http://s8.hostingkartinok.com/uploads/images/2016/03/52e508217d1508174aac8df3262ff6fa.jpg) of the scene where jinyoung walked in on jackson in the bathroom on the last chapter. HBD jackson! to celebrate his birthday i included a scene about it in this chapter because i hope jinyoung (or mark) celebrated it with him irl too :P the bear cookies were completely inspired by my bae daria who commented in the last chapter that jb is a "sweet serious bear cookie", and i found the phrase so cute i had to include it in the fic. the title "cinnamon roll" was inspired by another of my fave commenters sonia, who used this phrase to describe jackson and i loved it. she mentioned about how she used to write HP fics and joked that jinyoung was probably reading her fics in this verse, which i totally agree with and was even thinking of adding her name into the fic as jinyoung's favourite HP writer but i didn't know if she'd find it too weird lol. let me know what you think bb i can always insert it again later! ;) also for the record i didn't mean to throw shade at anybody with the "weeping member" and "manhood" part i just wanted to parody bodice ripper books and i couldnt think of any other funny phrases to describe male parts since i dont read them lmao. no offense i've actually read fics that used these phrases and found them really hot!


	6. Chapter 6

Now that he was actually working in the kitchen and personally baking entire trays of pastries and whole cakes like Jackson was making drinks, Junior was able to discreetly put aside samples from occasional batches which he thought Jackson's sweet tooth might enjoy. Jackson especially liked the Asian-French fusion items on their pastries menu, and he didn't explain why but Junior could guess it was because he missed the food back home. He had waited for so long to be able to finally, actually bake pastries with his own hands and surprise Jackson with them to brighten up his day and lessen his tiredness the way Jackson always slipped him drinks at the times he needed them most. Sure, before he had many chances to siphon away a cookie or puff here and there when Mark and JB's backs were turned, but it wasn't the same thing.  
  
On a few very rare occasions, they slipped each other cakes and drinks at the exact same time, and when this happened, Junior found his amazed, astonished grin reflected on Jackson's boyishly blushing cheeks, the sheer coolness of the coincidence seeming dizzyingly like telepathy.  
  
He quickly and studiously learnt the ropes in the kitchen, trying his best to keep out of both JB and Mark's way so as not to make them regret their decision to accept him into their territory. It was definitely an eye-opening experience, learning firsthand from Mark Tuan, one of the most celebrated and successful Asian pastry chefs in the US, and Junior made sure to prove that he did not take this opportunity for granted.  
  
But no matter how hard he tried to concentrate and focus on the task at hand, sometimes, his mind still drifted out of the kitchen into the cafe area, where he could hear a familiar deep voice joking around with the other waitstaff with an easy familiarity, and high-pitched appreciative laughter that senselessly seemed more musical to his ears than the almost ceaseless ringing of windchimes at the peak hour.  
  
Even when he was baking, he thought of Jackson. The pretty, almost flawless sheen of glaze on a batch of deliciously browned doughnuts reminded him of the way Jackson's eyes glowed in the light of the kerosene lamp during their ramen suppers, mysterious but warm. He wasn't paying attention to the amount of powdered sugar trickling out from the packet he was drizzling over the doughnuts until JB exclaimed loudly in protest. In the end, they turned out too sweet even after they had tried to scrape off most of the white dust, and couldn't be put out in the display case for sale. But Jackson helpfully saved the day as he stuffed doughnut after doughnut into his mouth as if he had been starving for days, declaring that Junior's doughnuts tasted absolutely perfect and hit the spot just like he had eaten the dodgy seaweed soup on his birthday.  
  
When Junior was baking a red velvet cake, the rich, sticky and moist burgundy-maroon of the insides reminded him of the vermillion that flooded Jackson's cheeks tantalizingly as he pressed the button to eject steamed milk from the espresso machine and the cloud of expelled steam momentarily engulfed his face.  
  
"Dude, stop watching me. Don't you have other things to do?" he had finally snapped, but with less malice than frustration, and Junior realised that he was shamelessly gawking over the bar counter with his chin propped on his fists like he was watching a movie he had bought tickets for.  
  
Mortified, he made an incoherent noise that sounded like "Mmpdghh," and promptly turned to run, hearing Jackson's amused laughter trailing like a comet's tail behind him all the way to the kitchen.  
  
The thin layer of cream cheese frosting reminded him of Jackson's pearly teeth, which he flaunted unabashedly like he was doing daily ads for toothpaste commercials. Though he didn't blush and bite his lips as often as Junior, when he did, it was doubly obvious because of the stark contrast between his heated skin and reddened mouth and the pretty porcelain white of his hair, face and teeth.  
  
  
  
On their next staff meeting, Mark announced that in a week's time, he would be shutting down the patisserie for one day for them all to participate in a special staff activity. When Junior nudged Jackson to whisper if he knew what it was, Jackson just smiled cryptically and said, "You'll see."  
  
The staff activity turned out to be something he could never have predicted, when he arrived with the three youngest to report to work on the arranged day, Jackson and JB having made their way there earlier to help Mark with the preparations. An excited murmur rose among the assembled staff when they saw the boxes of numerous cans of spray paints of different colours. Mark clapped his hands to get everyone's attention and from his side, Jackson winked at Junior, his eyes promising naughty things. Junior wish he was smooth enough to wink back without missing a beat but he only blushed lamely and lowered his own eyes.  
  
"Today's staff activity isn't for the customers," Mark began, making everyone straighten with interest, "It's for the staff." He smiled. "I know a lot of us come and hang out in this alley during breaks, both alone and together. But it's been pretty grimy, cluttered and not all that safe since this place was opened. So I've been thinking of brightening it up, making it a slightly cleaner and better environment for us to take our breaks, no matter how short they are. I think it's important for the staff's well-being. What do you guys say, are you in?"  
  
The end of his speech was greeted by a rousing and enthusiastic cheer. Mark smiled, looking relieved like he had been unsure, and JB clapped his shoulder reassuringly. Relieved from his duties, Jackson drifted a few feet nearer to Junior, so subtly that no one but Junior noticed.  
  
Mark elaborated more on his makeshift plans -- to clean up the alley area first as best they could with brooms, vacuum cleaners, cloths, detergent and picking up the garbage strewn around by hand. He speedily assigned out duties, mostly relegating the strenous cleaning tasks and heavy lifting to the male staff while the female staff just wiped the layer of dirt and grime off the white wall of the back of the bakery. Everyone was hard at work at once, looking forward to the fun part later where they could expend their creativity and personalize their own designs, leaving their permanent mark, however small, on a part of the bakery.  
  
Mark started walking around, supervising and overseeing the various tasks. JB hauled a vacuum cleaner out from the storeroom and Junior followed suit, lugging the heavy machine out of the back door and plugging it into an electrical outlet. But after he had finished plowing it over half the area of the alley, JB covering the other half, Jackson walked over from where he had been sweeping the floor to the electrical outlet where Junior was unplugging the unwieldy machine and clumsily wrapping the bulky cord around the body.  
  
Jackson passed him his broom and said, "I'll do it. You finish the sweeping." He smiled and grabbed the cord out of Junior's hand, finished winding it around the cleaner and dragged the whole thing back through the door, disappearing into the kitchen. Junior pressed a hand to his hot face, hoping no one else had noticed as he hastily recommenced sweeping the ground.  
  
When Mark announced that all the boring and tiring cleaning was officially done, everyone cheered again, bubbling with eagerness as they discussed in upbeat voices what kind of artwork they would be graffiti-ing on the now cleaned and much-whiter back wall of the bakery. There were some tricky and worried questions raised about whether this was public property and if they would get into trouble for doing this, but Mark seemed pretty sure that he was allowed to do anything to the wall as he held the title deed to the property.  
  
After a quick debriefing, Mark set them free on the wall and everyone proceeded to go crazy, grabbing the colours they liked from the vast selection in the boxes of spray paint and finding their own empty spot on the wall. For a few moments, the alley descended into silence only broken by the _shhhh_ spraying sound of paints. There were also other art materials, like special permanent markers designed for drawing on walls, and pencils to sketch outlines first if anyone wanted to. Junior had grabbed a can of pretty powder blue paint that reminded him of the colour of the sky but was staring blankly at his spot of wall, unsure what to paint.  
  
He felt his shoulder gently being bumped, and turned to see Jackson, grinning at him goofily. "Why don't you write my name?"  
  
Junior sputtered. Seriously, how did he spout all this shameless stuff with a straight face? "Why should I?!" was all he managed to come up with brilliantly, while hyperventilating.  
  
"Then I'll write yours," Jackson countered without missing a beat, smile unfaltering. He shook the can up and down a few times vigorously, his index finger on the button. He took a deep breath, then started spraying with hands that were confidently steady. Junior watched, expecting to see a J appear as Jackson spelled out his English name. He was surprised and confused to see complicated-looking characters of a language he didn't recognize. But the strokes in Jackson's deft sweeping script were somehow beautiful.  
  
"Is that Chinese?" he piped up hesitantly, slightly awed as Jackson finished the last stroke with a flourish. Jackson nodded, looking proud.  
  
"Do you want me to teach you how to read it?" he offered sweetly, and took Junior's hand without waiting for his answer. Jackson guided his hand to touch the quickly-drying lilac paint of the first character. Junior brushed his fingers over the three downward, parallel strokes at the bottom right. "This is read as _zhen_ ," Jackson explained patiently. "It basically means precious, or treasured."

He moved Junior's hand to the right, over the second character which looked like a house with a roof over a skirted cross. "This is _rong_." Jackson continued softly, "which means pride or honour."  
  
Junior gasped, the beauty of the meanings touching him deeply. "Are these really the Chinese characters my name translates to? How did you know?"  
  
Jackson nodded, looking sheepish. "I might have run the Korean characters of your name through Google translate."  
  
Junior snorted an uncontrollable laugh. "Why would you do that?" He affected nonchalance, though his heart was swelling with warmth.  
  
Jackson shrugged carelessly, like it was no big deal. "I just couldn't think of anything else I wanted to graffiti when Mark told me about today's plans."  
  
Junior felt breathlessly shy. He wanted to spray Jackson's name in Korean to repay him, but then he had a better idea. "Will you... teach me how to write your name in Chinese?" he lowered his lashes bashfully.  
  
When he raised them, Jackson's smile was blinding. "Sure," he said simply, taking Junior's hand again gently.  
  
Jackson carefully guided his clumsy hand through the unfamiliar strokes, one at a time, as together they sprayed _jia_ , the first character of his name next to Junior's. "It's pretty complicated and doesn't really have any actual meaning," Jackson explained apologetically. "It's just a pretty word commonly used in Chinese names. But other characters pronounced the same way, jia, could mean home or good or add." Junior nodded, eyes glazing over at the deluge of information and distracted by the rough warmth of Jackson's fingers laced through his own, the similarly pale but differently coarse and knuckled backs of their hands contrasting prettily with each other. Jackson's hand was around the same size as his, but somehow it felt larger, encompassing his palm with a sense of security.  
  
"I prefer the second character of my name," Jackson murmured, his voice right by Junior's ear, and Junior felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up with a delicious tingle. "It's pronounced as _er_ , and by itself it doesn't mean anything but as part of the phrase _ou er_ , it means sometimes."  
  
Junior felt himself smiling involuntarily, not expecting the revelation that Jackson was a romantic in some ways too. "It's beautiful," he said truthfully, and when they finished the final small upward stroke and he turned around, lowering the spray can as Jackson's hand loosened his grasp, he found Jackson's face mere inches from his, his breath hitching audibly in his throat and eyes widening when both their gazes locked.  
  
(Later that week, Junior would muffle a gasp, nearly dropping the drink in his hand when he walked into the alley to find a huge obnoxious heart in red paint around both their names, encompassing them completely. He blushed furiously, immediately concluding that it must have been one of the three youngest playing a wise-ass prank.)  
  
(But later that month, when he casually raised the subject with them, still unable to forget it because he was reminded of it every time he went back to the alley for a break and the mystery confounded him, Yugyeom, Bambam and Youngjae firmly and categorically denied that it was their doing.)  
  
(He never really completely believed them until two months later, he happened to be lounging around Jackson's bedroom when he had run to the toilet for a few minutes, and while boredly rummaging through his belongings unexpectedly found stashed in his underwear drawer, like a dirty little secret, a single can of red spray paint.)  
  
  
  
After a few hours, as the impromptu mass graffiti party was winding down and everyone was starting to complain about their arms aching, they all stood back with impressed pride and surprise to survey their combined work, random and unconnected pictures of varying and vastly different art styles somehow interlinking to form a giant collage, a mural that was a beautiful mess. The alley looked totally unrecognizable from its shabby state that morning, after a mere few hours.  
  
The girls were walking down the length from one end to the other, remarking on all the designs and offering their compliments and criticisms. They reached the corner of the alley where Bambam and Youngjae had painted each other in rainbow colours and Yugyeom had promptly gleefully declared looked "gay as unicorns" and proceeded to add his own contribution to the artwork by spraying a dick going inside Bambam's mouth and adding an arrow with Youngjae's name in case anyone wasn't clear whose it was. Now, he obviously regretted his childish and thoughtless behavior as Tzuyu stubbornly tried to peer around his back as he helplessly attempted to block the drawing with his frame and outstretched arms, looking panicked.  
  
"What's that?" Tzuyu exclaimed in genuine interest when she saw the large and explicit dick. Yugyeom looked like he was about to cry or shit his pants, or both.  
  
"Pretty sure that's a penis," Nayeon snickered in an undertone which everyone could hear to Momo, who burst into hysterical giggles.  
  
"It... It's a banana!" Yugyeom shouted frantically to drown her out before Tzuyu could hear. "Right, guys?" He shot a half-pleading, half-threatening look to Youngjae and Bambam, who were enjoying his mortification and their sweet payback.  
  
"No," Bambam replied calmly, and Yugyeom's eyes widened to saucers. Bambam's eyes sparkled maliciously as he continued in the same blithe voice, "It's a cucumber." Yugyeom's knees were pressed together like he had peed in his pants a little.  
  
"Right," Youngjae added meaningfully, making Yugyeom cower with his sickly sweet smile. " _My_ cucumber." He smirked at Bambam, who blushed and jabbed a bony elbow into his ribs.  
  
It was at times like this that Junior was reminded with a twinge of surprise that Yugyeom was the youngest and most innocent among them, no matter how mature he looked and acted sometimes. He felt bad for him, but not enough to step in and stop enjoying the show.  
  
Tzuyu looked suspicious and doubtful, but amazingly, accepted the answer without further question. Yugyeom looked like he was about to dissolve to the ground in relief. As she turned away, losing interest, Yugyeom shot the two boys dirty and warning looks behind her back before proceeding to trail at her heels simpering like a puppy dog.  
  
  
  
Meanwhile, back in the dorms, Junior continued his silent raging at Jackson for continuing daily to feed his unhealthy delusions. Some of Jackson's actions were just so easy to misinterpret, to twist into something more than they were, that it was infuriating.  
  
"Take it easy, man. Don't hurt yourself," JB sniggered as they walked past Jackson's wide open door. Inside his room, he was propped up on the floor beside his bed on one arm doing ostentatious push-ups again, but ridiculously, they still affected Junior as strongly no matter how many times he witnessed them. He felt the familiar shortening of his breaths at Jackson's gleaming muscles pounding like pistons and quickly tore his eyes away with a physical effort. He hid behind JB's shoulder, conveniently using him as a human shield, one of his strategies in his plan to keep a distance from Jackson lately, or at least as much of a distance as he could with both of them living just a few rooms away.  
  
His feelings were burgeoning dangerously, out of his control, and sometimes Junior was deathly afraid that he would snap once and for all, do something incredibly stupid and catastrophic like break into Jackson's bedroom in the middle of the night and climb over him, pinning him down to the bed and tearing his clothes off like he had been dreaming for so long now. He could imagine Jackson's grunts and pleasured groans only too well from the ones he was obnoxiously making now as he did those damned push-ups and he swore to God, Jackson had no idea what he was doing or what would happen if he continued making those sexual-sounding noises. Junior gritted his teeth and shoved his clenched fists into his pockets.  
  
Now, Jackson flushed hotter at JB's sarcastic remark and sprung to his feet with remarkable gymnastic flexibility, breathing hard as he took a few steps towards them, glaring between both of them accusatorily. Junior took a stuttering step back and avoided his gaze, looking longingly at JB's room. He nudged JB desperately as the scent of Jackson's sweat hit him and his knees went weak. "Let's go," he hissed and thankfully JB broke Jackson's gaze with amusement and continued sloping with him towards his room.  
  
A few months or even weeks ago, if anyone had told Junior he would be making frequent trips to JB's room and starting to spend hours there with him, he would have laughed incredulously in their face. But the inconceivable had happened when he and JB had accidentally discovered their shared love and passion for indie films, French and English and Japanese arthouse flicks.  
  
After they discussed it, Junior had learnt that in a somehow reversed way from him, while he had picked up the language from watching movies, JB had started learning English to understand obscure movies he badly wanted to watch on the Internet which didn't have Korean subtitles. He was impressed by JB's collection of limited edition, secondhand DVDs he had ordered from Ebay and other online trading sites through the years, and his even more extensive collection in the folder on his laptop. Without arranging it, they started spending many an afternoon lying on their stomachs on JB's bedspread, heads huddled together in the dim of the room, lights off and curtains drawn as they devoured movies with rapt attention. Junior found JB to be an agreeable movie-watching partner because he didn't make many distracted noises and when he laughed, it was at the same jokes as Junior. He grudgingly admitted (but only to himself) that JB might be a pretty cool guy after all.  
  
The first gathering had actually started when JB cornered Junior alone one day in the alley, startling him. He looked furtive and slightly desperate as he reminded Junior with a sweaty and pasty face that he owed JB a favour. Junior didn't deny, because he always repaid his debts. But when he asked what JB wanted from him, JB hissed with his eyes darting sporadically to the door as if worried someone might burst in on them, "I can't talk here. Meet me in my room later."  
  
The proposal sounded dodgy, but Junior had not much choice. At least one thing he was certain of was that JB wasn't interested in him romantically; they had settled that earlier and it would take someone with the sensitivity of a rhinoceros not to notice the crackling tension between JB and Mark in the kitchen.  
  
He popped by JB's room that night after his bath, but found him in a more reticent and less talkative mood. He seemed to be angsting about some troubles he couldn't voice out and Junior decided to give him some time to formulate his thoughts, taking the pressure off by drifting around his room and running his fingers around the random knickknacks, display items and articles of various clothing and recipe books strewn with organized messiness over JB's room.  
  
He nearly squealed out loud in excitement when he caught a glimpse of the DVD of _Mysterious Skin_ , beneath a pile of dirty clothes. "Oh my god, you watched this too? It's such a beautiful and heartbreaking movie! Joseph Gordon-Levitt is so hot!" He realised his slip a moment after it came out, and swallowed in consternation, but JB didn't seem to be surprised, instead just nodding with a slight smile and a flicker of interest lighting up his eyes.  
  
"You like movies too?"  
  
"Are you kidding? I love them! I'm a film buff. I came here because I used to dream of being an actor."  
  
JB smiled, looking at him with what seemed like new respect. "I used to dream of being a director... when I was really, really young. Like six or seven. Now, I'm just a collector."  
  
"You have a collection?!" Junior was squealing every sentence by now, increasingly excited. JB looked flattered by his enthusiasm as he nodded again. "It's not as impressive as the one I have back home, but do you want to see it?"  
  
"Yes!" Junior breathed in rapture, then remembered himself. "B-but... didn't you say you wanted to talk to me about something?"  
  
JB shrugged, looking moody again. "It doesn't matter," he said. "I don't think I can talk about it tonight anyway. We can discuss it another day."  
  
"Oh... okay. If you're sure," Junior agreed without much protest, his mind already racing ahead as he caught side of JB's laptop lying on his desk and wondered if he would mind lending it to Junior to rewatch the DVD which he had first watched as a teenager many years ago.  
  
  
  
A few nights later when Jackson walked past JB's ajar door to find them in his dark room lying side by side on his narrow bed watching _Breakfast at Tiffany's_ with the phosphorescent glow of the laptop screen illuminating their faces and one of JB's earbuds in each of their ears, he lost it.  
  
Junior sat up abruptly, startled when Jackson stormed in loudly, banging the door against the wall. "What the fuck are you two doing?" he gritted out, voice low.  
  
JB slowly sat up too, looking confused. "Watching a movie?"  
  
"Are you on a date?" Jackson breathed in disbelief. Junior couldn't see his expression well in the dark but for some reason he looked heartbroken, shoulders slumping in on himself.  
  
"... No?" Junior and JB replied, unintentionally in sync, then exchanged looks with each other. Jackson caught the glance they shared and Junior watched as his eyes blanked in the low light, growing hard.  
  
He half-expected Jackson to barbarically barge between them and wrench Junior off the bed, dragging him back to his own room to give him a piece of his mind again as he usually did in such circumstances. He didn't expect Jackson to only lower his head and turn around, his back hunched in a lonely way that made Junior's heart ache as he trudged out of the room silently.  
  
They hadn't meant for Jackson to notice that first time, but as time passed and Junior's romantic feelings for Jackson and his platonic ones for JB grew at the same time, he started slowly and unobtrusively spending more time in JB's room, subconsciously using him as a shield between him and Jackson.  
  
As JB grew to trust him too, he gradually seemed to be letting down his guard and talking to Junior about more things, sharing more personal confidences with him. They lapsed into Korean more often, sometimes with Yugyeom and Youngjae, and spent entire glorious afternoons speaking not a single word of English, their mother tongue flowing relievingly smoothly off Junior's lips. If he thought about it, their drawing closer now seemed inevitable from the start, being from the same country and so close in age and backgrounds as they were. He didn't see what was wrong with them sprawling chastely side by side in bed together, especially since they didn't close the door but always left it wide open. Friends did that. Back in Korea, hyungs and dongsaengs did that all the time. But Jackson's dark but silent looks whenever he had to pass by their room seemed preposterously to imply something dirty and unfit to be seen.  
  
Once, they both got back from the morning shift and fell asleep in the afternoon in the middle of watching another movie. When Junior jolted awake disorientedly, the evening light was slanting through the window and he found himself lying on a sleeping JB's bicep while from the doorway of the room, Jackson was staring at them both with hard, accusing and profoundly hurt eyes.  
  
Before Junior could say anything, he clenched his jaw tightly and spun on his heel, striding away with clipped footsteps.  
  
  
  
To be honest, Junior's patience was running thin too. He found Jackson's mercurial mood swings and his inexplicable possessiveness unfair. Jackson wasn't the only one who had a temper. Sure, they had become good friends, but he didn't understand why Jackson had to be so territorial and displeased when he made or got close to other friends. He wasn't even Jackson's best friend; _Mark_ was. It wasn't like they were exclusive or anything, but the way Jackson was acting, one would think Junior had personally and grievously betrayed him. He was acting like a drama queen and it was getting ridiculous.  
  
So he tried to stay out of Jackson's way as much as he could, dreading the way the air would crackle with an almost electric tension every time they neared each other, and how Jackson's occasional frostiness switched to slightly patronizing and mocking politeness and sometimes even uncertainty so quickly it made his head spin. It was easier to be around JB with his tired monosyllabic grunts but reassuring silence that told Junior without words he would be here for Junior if he had anything he needed to talk about.  
  
A few weeks after the day he asked Junior to pay back the favour, JB finally voiced out what was on his mind.  
  
"You can't tell anyone," he hissed gravely to Junior like a gossipy teenage girl sharing a secret, making Junior swear to keep his lips sealed. "Especially Jackson," he added, like he knew exactly what Junior was thinking.  
  
Junior winced, but agreed. After all, it was JB's secret, and up to him who he wanted to share it with. Junior just wanted to pay back his favour so they would finally be even.  
  
JB whispered in anguish, "Markconfessedtome."  
  
At first, Junior thought he heard wrongly. He blinked, trying to process JB's garbled words. He could not for the life of him imagine wooden, monosyllabic Mark taking the initiative to profess his love to JB, but JB looked deadly serious.  
  
"Um..." was all he could manage in reply. "... Congratulations?"  
  
JB groaned expressively, burying his head in his hands and messing up his hair. "I haven't given him an answer."  
  
"You what?" Junior couldn't help screeching in a low voice. Now, he was doubly confused. It had been obvious to him, even from the first day, that JB had a huge and more than platonic crush on Mark. And as he interacted with both of them more, he had grown pretty sure that Mark cared deeply for JB too. He couldn't have read the signals wrongly; he prided himself on the unfailing accuracy of his gaydar. So he couldn't think of any reason why JB would be hesitating now.  
  
"I..." JB struggled, looking pained. "I'm still not sure... if my feelings for him are physical or adulatry, temporary or permanent. And... I think Mark deserves better than that."  
  
Junior was speechless, not expecting to hear JB string together such a coherent sentence.  
  
"Why are you not sure?" he blurted out inanely, then realised how stupid his question sounded.  
  
He cringed, but JB seemed to be successfully prompted to go on as he continued quietly, "I guess I'm not sure if I'm worthy of him."  
  
Junior opened his mouth, then closed it as he realised with surprise that he actually kind of understood JB's predicament. If he put himself in his shoes and imagined being faced with Mark's ardour, even if he felt the same way, he would still be too intimidated by his worship for Mark to really be able to picture them together, in a relationship as equals. It was like love between an idol and a fan -- the most surreal miracle that could ever happen.  
  
In the end, Junior didn't manage to offer any substantial or remotely useful advice. But JB claimed that he felt better finally confiding this to somebody, so he let the matter rest and decided that he would help JB the only way he could -- by sharing the weight of his secret and protecting it till it was resolved.  
  
" _Himnae_!" he said to JB brightly as he left his room that night, and JB gave him a private, grateful smile at the usage of the Korean phrase which meant _Have strength_ and was commonly used back home in encouragement. As he walked back to his room, Junior found himself wishing the best for JB and Mark, and hoping that between the two of them -- himself and JB -- at least one of them would be able to find the happiness they deserved. If JB truly felt for Mark the same way Junior felt for Jackson, he would be incredibly lucky that Mark reciprocated his affections, Junior found himself thinking with slight envy as he walked past Jackson's closed door and noticed the strip of light at the bottom. He wondered what Jackson was doing, what he was thinking right now. Who he was thinking of; what he would say and how he would look if Junior impulsively took that tiny step forward and knocked boldly on his door.  
  
But he didn't. Looking at how tormented JB was by Mark's confession only seemed to reinforce his determination not to impose this same conflict on Jackson by revealing his feelings too.  
  
  
  
So when Jackson asked him pointblank, "What were you talking about with JB in his room that afternoon?", no matter how badly he wanted to tell Jackson the truth, he had to reply reluctantly, "I can't tell you." He had made JB a promise and he was duty-bound to keep it.  
  
Jackson's face fell crestfallenly, his eyes growing cool and impervious again. Earlier that day, after weeks of dancing around each other and growing awkwardness, Jackson had finally caved first and slid Junior one of his under-the-table cups which Junior hadn't received for weeks. Junior's heart had leapt in jubilant surprise, then tripped to see the latte art on top of the foam spelling out _I miss you_.  
  
"I miss you too," he blurted out now on impulse, at his wit's end because he sensed that Jackson was drifting out of his reach again. Jackson's eyes widened, fixing on Junior, like he was stunned that Junior had said such bold and declarative words. Junior blushed, but forced himself not to retract them. After all, he owed Jackson the courage in return for saying them out first.  
  
After a tense moment in which it seemed the situation could go either way, relievingly, Jackson relented, his eyes softening. He grudgingly dropped the issue, instead starting on another tangent.  
  
"I hate it when you exclude me," he said softly, so inaudibly Junior almost didn't catch the words. His voice rose slightly and heatedly. "Do you like JB better because he's Korean and taller and older and more good-looking than me?" The words tumbled out in a rush, like he had been wanting to say them for a long time, and Jackson looked stricken.  
  
"W-what?" Junior was so stupefied, he didn't know how to respond. " _No!_ I don't!" he protested uneloquently, but he didn't know how to say that JB had nothing on Jackson, that to him Jackson was ten times more good-looking than JB or even Mark, or any of the other colleagues he had met in the bakery. It didn't even matter that Jackson was ever so slightly shorter than Junior, because if Jackson were taller, he wouldn't be Jackson, and Junior couldn't for the life of him imagine Jackson any other way than he was now -- which was perfection. He wouldn't want Jackson any other way.  
  
Although he had told JB he wasn't his type, Junior privately admired him for his warm-heartedness, his maturity, his dependability, his confidence and his talent. They had found many hobbies in common since and Junior could imagine himself being attracted to JB in another life, if they had met in another universe. And Mark -- needless to say, Mark was his idol, and very attractive to boot, and Junior had nursed a lowkey man crush on him from the first time he saw him on that television screen. But it was just that from the very first day he arrived at the patisserie, Jackson had been shining so brightly he overshadowed everybody else, that Junior didn't even have the ability to look at or notice any other person besides him.  
  
Jackson was like... Jackson was like the expensive truffles that Junior sometimes smuggled to him wrapped in a paper napkin in his pocket -- indescribable, sublime, a mouthful of pure heaven. How could Junior even _look_ at anybody else, when _Jackson_ was around?  
  
But even with all his education and all the proficiency he had acquired in English, how could Junior ever, ever hope to even begin putting all this into words? So he just opened and closed his mouth mutely and miserably at Jackson, who still looked lost and desolate, but a hopeful light flickered uncertainly in his eyes. It was that light that broke Junior, the way Jackson was so hung up on his every word, his every action, that it seemed to impact his whole world. When Jackson looked at him like this -- like he was silver; like he was gold -- who could blame Junior for being hopelessly confused?  
  
  
  
Mercifully, once again, Jackson seemed to sense Junior's predicament and swooped him to save his day. Jackson Wang, his hero. Junior was pretty sure his eyes were shooting out heart emojis like in a sappy notice-me-senpai shoujo manga as Jackson said forgivingly, persuasively, "Then call me _hyung_ too." Junior inhaled sharply at Jackson's unexpected demand, but despite the flush on his own face, he didn't seem inclined to take it back. "And prove it," Jackson continued smoothly, making his jaw slacken. "Come on a date with me."  
  
  
x  
  
  
While JB was pondering over Mark's words, the seasons had unobtrusively changed from summer to fall. The autumn leaves spiralled down in lazy patterns from the tall oak trees in the courtyard of their dormitory one afternoon as he sprawled against a stone table, watching some of the other guys playing a game of basketball in the old abandoned basketball court with the tattered nets and rusted hoops, which they had invited Mark over for, to even the teams out. JB had been disqualified by Jackson for a foul and was now half-watching the maknaes who had been kicked out for penalties too as they watered the pots of flowering plants situated around the compound of the granite courtyard, but mostly his eyes ended up straying to Mark darting around the court with surprisingly quick reflexes, graceful as a gazelle, his shirt riding up for a moment to flash a sliver of his hipbone as he jumped to dunk the ball, his smile like sunlight itself.  
  
"JB, watch me!" he heard Mark yelling to get his attention, and looked over to see Mark scoring a breathtakingly beautiful three-pointer, then playfully kissing his fingertips in a way that made JB's lungs constrict.  
  
He was still trying to regulate his breathing when Junior ditched the game and walked over a few minutes later, grabbing JB's opened bottle of water and taking a big swig from it. JB braced himself for a sarcastic jab, but was surprised to hear Junior only say, "Are you alright?"  
  
When he looked up, the sympathy in Junior's eyes made him wince. Did he really appear to be in such a pathetic state? It was demoralizing.  
  
A ruckus on the basketball court drew their attention, and JB stood up in alarm to see Mark sprawled on the ground, his leg at an unnatural angle. His heart pounded wildly in his chest as his feet led him mindlessly forward, panicking. Mark couldn't be hurt. _No_.  
  
Both he and Junior arrived at the spot where the other boys were gathered and crouching in concern around Mark at the same time, panting breathlessly. "Are you okay?" JB croaked, simultaneously as Junior demanded, "What happened?"  
  
"I'm fine!" Mark quickly said, looking embarrassed as he struggled to stand up, face flushed. He stumbled a little and Jackson caught him, but when JB reached out to steady him too Jackson stepped between them and elbowed him away roughly, his eyes emitting animosity.  
  
Mark didn't meet JB's eyes either as Jackson leveled an equally scathing glare at Junior, who lowered his head shamefacedly. Jackson helped Mark towards a stone bench to sit down.  
  
JB and Junior trailed a few paces behind them like lost sheep as the rest of the team resumed their game.  
  
"Leave him alone," Jackson snapped, when JB attempted to approach Mark again. He seemed inordinately hostile and uptight about business that didn't involve him, and JB wanted to make some cutting remark to put him in his place but the blankness in Mark's eyes silenced him. Jackson didn't even look at Junior, his eyes still on JB. "Go and continue whatever you were doing."  
  
"We weren't doing anything --" Junior protested feebly, but Jackson shot him an icy glare. "I wasn't talking to you," he cut him off in a snooty voice.  
  
For some reason, that out of all of Jackson's douchey behavior lately was the straw that made something in JB snap. It wasn't even directed at him, but the way Junior flinched with undisguised hurt made him step forward for the same reason he had burst into the storeroom on Junior's first day at work.  
  
"Don't talk to him like that," he said, voice low. At this, Mark looked up, and the uncomprehending surprise and slight bitterness in his face hurt JB in ways he couldn't understand.  
  
Jackson's eyes practically bulged, a vein in his neck throbbing as his face reddened blotchily. "Oh yeah? What are you gonna do about it?" Before JB could respond, Jackson had already shoved him back, hard without warning.  
  
In an instant, a flash of white hot rage that blinded his vision, JB found his hands rising to grab the scruff of Jackson's shirt, his fingers curling in the fabric. He blinked back to consciousness to see Jackson's fist raised menacingly, his breathing rough with anger as he drew it back.  
  
In the nick of time, Junior had grabbed Jackson's upper arm and restrained it in a lockhold. They all seemed to be equally surprised by his strength, but he somehow managed to keep Jackson from swinging his fist, though JB could tell how difficult it was from the veins protruding on Junior's arms.  
  
"Stop it!" he panted, glaring furiously between both of them, but JB only let go of Jackson's shirt when Mark stood up unsteadily, looking about to intervene too. He didn't want Mark to be hurt again in an exchange of blows. Jackson stumbled back unsteadily, the front of his shirt all stretched and creased by JB's grip, but his eyes still held on to JB's threateningly until Junior physically dragged him away from them both, across the courtyard towards their rooms, his knuckles white on Jackson's wrists.  
  
  
  
Thankfully, by some miracle, Junior managed to appease Jackson back in the dormitory building and the two of them rejoined the rest again thirty minutes later, looking tight as thieves, the disagreement cleanly forgotten. JB didn't know how Junior had managed to coax Jackson into submission but he figured it was better he didn't know because earlier on when he ran up to his room to grab Mark a sweater, while passing by Junior's room he heard an unwanted moment of him simpering sweetly, "Jackson-hyung~" He decided that he would have to have a chat with Junior regarding the importance of self-respect and preserving one's dignity sometime.  
  
Luckily for him, unlike Jackson, Mark wasn't the sort to bear grudges for more than a while, at least on the outside. So by the time night had fallen and they had started up the barbeque they had invited Mark here to attend, Mark was talking to him politely like usual and appeared to have moved on from the incident. He was reminded once again of how Mark's easygoing acceptance was one of the reasons JB liked him most.  
  
After they had all eaten their fill of marinated and roasted chicken wings, seafood skewers, and a random but delicious dessert of s'mores, they sat down in a circle on the ground near the flickering embers of the barbeque pit, warming themselves up in the refreshing autumn night breeze which ruffled Mark's hair and the unravelling threads of the worn-out violet sweater JB had loaned him. It hung loosely over his slender frame, his delicate wrists disappearing into the billowing sleeves. JB wanted to gather him into his arms, hold him as easily and naturally against his chest as Seungyoun was reclining luxuriously against Yibo's shoulder, eyelashes fluttering sleepily as Wenhan told them all a ghost story which was more funny than scary.  
  
Mark lit up a cigarette after he had finished his story and Yixuan took out his guitar, and offered Jackson one. When JB asked for one too, slightly petulantly, Mark apologetically told him that was his last stick. When JB pursed his lips in disappointment, Mark laughed and said shyly, "But if you don't mind, I can share mine with you." He took another slow drag before passing the lit cigarette to JB, and leaned back on his palms to listen to Yixuan who had started playing. Jackson offered Junior a puff of his cigarette too but he declined politely.  
  
Yixuan closed his eyes, picking out a delicate tune from the frets by touch and instinct. Sungjoo joined in the accompaniment with his singing, his voice soft and gentle but clear. JB didn't recognize the Chinese song he was singing, but he caught a line about _I'm the pencil and you're the melody / I want to spend my life recording you_. It wasn't a lullaby, but sounded like one.  
  
Next, Youngjae continued with an acoustic version of a Korean pop song JB had heard a few times too: _You and I, our dreams are right here blazing inside me_. JB found himself looking over at Mark as they passed the cigarette back and forth, watching the way his familiar benign smile tugged dreamily at his lips as he listened, and remembering the ubiquitous nights before his confession, in Mark's house when they shared a cup of tea before bed, Mark curled up on the couch opposite JB with his legs folded up and tucked beneath him, looking as small and precious as a furry little squirrel as he beamed brightly at JB in a way that JB had never seen him smile at anybody before.  
  
He remembered yet another thing they had talked about on that life-changing night -- it seemed the topics they had touched on were endless -- Mark sounding out his hangul name in Chinese characters, and seeming to be very interested in the subject as he explained the meaning of JB's Chinese name to him -- _Zai_ , which meant to exist, here or being; and _Fan_ , which meant to do, to commit, or to make an example. He remarked that he liked how dynamic JB's name sounded, in contrast to his own peaceful, placid sounding one, which simply meant roughly _gratitude for friendliness_.  
  
He looked around at their circle of friends, their warm features flickering in the moonlight, immigrants all of them, who had left their hearts behind in far-away homelands but found an unlikely home in this ramshackle dormitory, an unlikely solidarity in this extended group of brothers. He knew he was lucky to have a place to sleep, food to eat, and an amazing job as a Korean in the United States. He had been so unbelievably fortunate to be able to see his dreams come true, one of the lucky ones unlike others such as Yixuan and Sungjoo who had travelled halfway around the world dreaming of becoming musicians but ended up washing cars for minimum wage. He never wanted to take this for granted, and knew that Mark's generosity had played a big part in making his dreams come true. Mark could have chosen anyone to be his sous pastry chef, people much more talented, skilled, experienced and easy to work with than JB. But he had chosen JB, and he had stuck with him for nearly three years now, grooming him, nurturing him to become a better baker and a better person.  
  
A few days earlier, he had been mired in self-doubt again, his bearings thrown and confidence scattered when he messed up the measurements on an important order, but Mark had been touchingly forgiving.  
  
"Don't be so hard on yourself, JB," he had said quietly and without blame. "You're a good baker."  
  
The simple compliment went straight to his heart, because he knew that a word of _good_ coming from Mark was the highest of praise. Unlike other people, Mark never used overblown, descriptive or flowery words like _amazing_ or _fantastic_ or _wonderful_. To him, something was either good or not good. Perfect or lacking. There was no in between.  
  
It also wasn't lost on JB that Mark had called him a good baker this time. He clearly remembered the first time Mark had ever praised him, a week after he had entered the bakery. Then, Mark had said he was a good worker. And this raise in stature in Mark's eyes meant literally the entire world to him.  
  
  
  
He knew that despite how different the twelve of them might seem, they shared the same feeling of displacement; that just like him, two personas battled inside Mark -- the American-accented, English-speaking Mark Tuan and the soft-spoken, Taiwanese-and-Mandarin-mumbling Yi-en. Just like he had transformed himself from Im Jaebum into JB when he stepped into America, and Junior from Park Jinyoung. JB wondered how their environment defined them and the dynamics of their friendships and relationships, and wondered if some things would be different had they met in his homeland, or Mark's. However, he had the feeling that the basest feelings would be essentially the same, such as the way he still felt now when he looked at Mark, even after all this time. He couldn't believe that he could have this if he just said the word; that such a person who seemed more like an angel than a person at all, could belong wholly to him. It made his head light to contemplate it.  
  
Because more than just his outer appearance, Mark had such a beautiful heart too. JB could sense it from eating his fusion confections, the sense of overpowering nostalgia and homesickness they summoned up, the struggle between two identities, his adulthood and childhood self JB knew they represented. Mark had such a fragile, yearning heart, and the last thing JB wanted to do was to toy with it.  
  
  
  
Time continued to trickle by like the consistency of the thick, dense treacle puddings he made with Mark, Mark's confession hanging in the air between them like the elephant in the room -- an unthreatening but unignorable presence.  
  
After the requests submitted by more than five customers in their feedback forms, Mark, who never dismissed customers' feedback without considering it seriously, announced at the monthly staff meeting that they would be revamping the soundtrack of the bakery soon. And not just with an overhaul of the usual generic cafe jazz CDs they played, but making it completely original and exclusive with songs that customers could only listen to at this cafe, unless they bought the CDs which they would manufacture a modest number of for sale.  
  
"But how are we going to make it original?" Bambam asked in confusion, and Jackson rapped his head. "By recording our own covers, duh!"  
  
An excited hubbub erupted at this news. Everyone suddenly seemed to have become an aspiring musician as they gaily switched stories of how their failed musical dreams could finally be revived. Growing up, Junior had enjoyed going to the _noraebang_ after school with his classmates, and he had been told that he had a decent voice, but in the end he had felt more passionate about acting.  
  
Now, he felt his excitement mounting as well, stoked by the others' passionate discussion as they agreed on a day that would be best for business to shut down the bakery for half a day and rent a studio downtown where they could have a jamming session to record this album.  
  
"What should we call our band?" Yugyeom piped up sensibly, and silence fell as everyone pondered this question.  
  
After a few moments, Bambam yelled, "I have a great idea! How about GOT7?"  
  
"That doesn't even make sense," Tzuyu protested, "We have much more than seven staff here."  
  
Momo agreed. "You boys need to grow up and stop watching Pokemon."  
  
Bambam rolled his eyes impatiently. "It doesn't _literally_ have to mean we have seven members. It's like F4!"

"F4 has four members," Dahyun pointed out helpfully.  
  
"Bambam makes sense," Jackson nodded sagely, while everyone stared at him incredulously, not seeing the sense he spoke of. In the end, Mark decided to shelve the band name temporarily to be taken out for discussion again later, warning them not to count their chickens before they were hatched when they hadn't even recorded the covers yet.  
  
  
  
They all got to vote on the songs that would be on the album. There were no rules about genres or languages, as long as they were songs that would whet customers' appetites and make them feel like staying longer in the cafe. After everyone had cast a vote for their favourite songs, JB noticed while helping Mark tally them that there was an inordinate amount of Taylor Swift. He glanced suspiciously at Junior, wondering if he had voted twice. By now, he knew Junior's taste well enough to know that despite how he looked, he had a secret guilty pleasure for country music by female singers, among other genres.  
  
Surprisingly, it turned out that both the Taylor Swift songs weren't sung by Junior in the end. Yugyeom was the one who belted out a melodramatic and weepy version of _Teardrops on my Guitar_ while gazing soulfully at Tzuyu who had a WTF kind of expression on her face. But later, the two of them fought like cats and dogs with Bambam and Youngjae over the chance to do a duet of _Some_. In the end, their argument was mediated by agreeing that they could both record one version each. Youngjae impressed the socks off everybody when he effortlessly reached the high notes of the girl's part, and Bambam looked proud. Youngjae gamely joined in his boyfriend in enthusiastic if less-than-fluent Thai as Bambam did a rapidfire rap titled _Seventh Heaven_ accompanied by Jackson's beatboxing. Dahyun and Yixuan's voices blended in a sweet and jazzy duet of _Hate that I Love You_ by Rihanna ft. Ne-yo. Nayeon and Momo sang the entirety of Lady Gaga's The Fame album to each other, Dahyun guesting for the raps, blessing all the staff's eardrums with their angelic voices and what everyone unanimously agreed was quality music, while the five new boys collaborated on a laidback version of _Shine_ by Years  & Years and provided the backup vocals for Junior and Jackson, who were voice-fucking each other through the mics in a risque rendition of _Gwi Arae_ by Sanchez and Verbal Jint ft. LE. "Ewww! That's some baby-making music!" Bambam commented.  
  
Surprisingly, JB noted that Junior had an impressively mellifluous voice as he and Jackson went on to sing a duet of _Playground_ ( _In your heart, will I find the dream that I lost as a child?_ ) and Kimberley Chen's _Ai Ni_ :  
  
_I close my eyes, press against your heartbeat and breathe  
And in this moment, we're the only people left on earth  
The shape of your smiling mouth always hooks my heart  
Every second is the first kiss, I want to kiss you every second  
  
Just like this, loving you, we need to be together all the time  
I like to love the scent of your jacket and your embrace  
If we button our clothes together, we don't need to separate  
Our love will always have no distance, because of you_  
  
After everyone had taken their turns, JB was surprised when Mark approached him, leading him shyly to a mic because he hadn't voted for any songs. "I chose a few songs, but I don't sing very well," Mark admitted self-deprecatingly. "Will you sing them with me?"  
  
JB barely had time to nod slightly hesitantly, dazed, before the music started, a classic song that was familiar to everybody's ears.  
  
_I can't fight this feeling any longer  
And yet I'm still afraid to let it flow  
What started out as friendship has grown stronger  
I only wish I had the strength to let it show  
  
And even as I wander, I'm keeping you in sight  
You're a candle in the window, on a cold dark winter's night  
And I'm getting closer than I ever thought I might  
  
And I can't fight this feeling anymore  
I've forgotten what I started fighting for._..  
  
As the finishing piano chords decrescendoed, JB met Mark's eyes which were looking at him meaningfully, slightly stunned. He had ended up singing most of the song, since Mark's singing voice, though pleasant and able to hold a tune, was even lower and less audible than his speaking voice and JB had gotten a little carried away too, since he had always had a not-so-secret passion for singing. He balked in surprise to hear that the second Taylor Swift song had been chosen by Mark -- _Mine_ , but gamely sang along even as Mark raised his voice slightly on the line _I was a flight risk, with a fear of falling / Wondering why we bother with love, if it never lasts_. Junior smirked from the sidelines, raising his eyebrows at how well JB knew the lyrics even though JB always teased him about his Taylor Swift fanboying.  
  
Unsurprisingly, one of the songs was a Chris Brown number, but one that they unanimously agreed was the singer's greatest love song. Mark kept his eyes on JB as he sang, ' _Cause if I got you / I don't need money / I don't need cars / Girl you're my all_ , and JB swallowed as Jackson wiggled his eyebrows insufferably from behind Mark's back until JB took off his sneaker and hurled it at him.  
  
The last two songs were Chinese ones that JB didn't know -- _Angel_ by Mayday and _Bad Person_ by Park Jung Min.  
  
_Like a child relies on a shoulder, like tears rely on a face  
You're just like an angel, giving me reliance, giving me strength  
  
Like poets rely on the moon, like dolphins rely on the ocean  
You're an angel, you're an angel, you're my first and last heaven  
  
  
I'm honest, too impulsive, only making you walk into the wrong embrace  
Letting you think I'll never walk away, satisfying all your dependence  
I'm a bad person wearing a mask, keeping you in my heart but pushing you to others  
You always treat me as a cool and stern door, unable to see through my cowardice and weakness  
  
I'm a spineless bad person, actually loving you but having no courage to say a word  
Only able to suffer all the pain but be cruel to you  
The heartbroken one is the bad person watching you leave with his eyes open_  
  
Although JB didn't understand Mandarin, reading the lyrics sheet that had been printed for everyone with pronunciations and phonetics and definitions, he felt the last two songs Mark chose resonate with him, especially the last one. He thought of how subconsciously, silently, Mark had crawled into his heart somewhere during the last two years, becoming his solace, refuge and asylum; the bakery becoming his home away from home. Walking in alone for that interview two and a half years ago, he had never expected to find such love and warmth in this unfamiliar place. But he had, and even now, at this moment, JB could still see it shining quietly from Mark's eyes, bringing him to his knees without words.  
  
The bakery album was a success, copies flying off the shelves the moment customers got a sample of it. They had to send in a new order to manufacture another three batches. They had ended up naming their band GOT7, for lack of a better name, even though it had no meaning or link to the sixteen members of the staff. For some reason, it just sounded _right_.  
  
(JB had been utterly horrified when he first unwrapped the new albums and discovered that the album art on the cover was a selfie of him doing a beaver imitation. He had no idea how anyone had gotten hold of that picture, which was password-locked inside his phone and thereafter spent the rest of the day glaring suspiciously and vengefully at everyone except Mark. They all looked like perfect angels, which JB was completely sure was a farce until Mark casually asked him, smiling innocently, "Oh sorry, I forgot to tell you that I kinda snooped through your phone the other day and found the perfect picture for our album cover, JB. You don't mind, right?"  
  
JB choked.)  
  
  
  
JB's heart stopped one and a half months after Mark's confession, when Mark said softly, "I think I'm going to give up, JB."  
  
"Give up what?" JB rasped hoarsely, but Mark just smiled at him sadly, with resignation.  
  
"It's lonely... liking you alone."  
  
"Mark-hyung --" JB didn't know how to find the words to say how even now, after all these years, saying Mark's name with his lips still felt like an illicit thrill he wasn't good enough for. Loving Mark had always been second nature for JB, but he had never had the audacity to dream that he could be _in love_ with Mark. He had never dreamt that one day Mark would be just a heartbeat away from him, close enough to touch if he only reached out.  
  
Because he was like a sunflower, and Mark was the sun. While sunflowers flourished under sunlight, craved sunlight, it would be insanity, an impossibility for a mere sunflower to ever dare to dream of possessing the sun.  
  
Initially, he hadn't been sure if his intense and visceral attraction towards Mark was merely his long-untouched body responding reflexively towards Mark's intimate actions. He needed to make sure that it wasn't just anyone who could make him feel that way, but that it _had_ to be Mark. Before he accepted Mark's heart, JB wanted to be a hundred percent sure that he could give his own heart to Mark in return. Because Mark didn't just deserve the shell of his body, he deserved what was inside as well. He deserved the entirety of both JB's body and heart.  
  
And now, Mark's confession had only made JB feel doubly inadequate. Because Mark's sheer magnanimousness and expansiveness, the way he had readily accepted and forgiven JB's vacillation and hesitation after he confessed, always putting him first; his graciousness and unending patience in waiting for JB all this time without giving him any pressure, had taught JB why Mark was justly the _hyung_ among the both of them. Because JB could never have had the capacity or breadth of heart to sacrifice himself the same way for Mark, if he were in his position.  
  
In Korea, people firmly believed that the role of _hyung_ was something that wasn't just bestowed by age, but needed to be earned. And this was how JB knew that Mark had rightfully earned his respect and his position as JB's role model.  
  
Mark speared a hand through his hair, looking weary. "It hurts," he said quietly. "Being beside you."  
  
For the first time in his life, JB's heart felt like it was cracking down the middle, into two neat pieces. Maybe this was why he said what he said next. Or maybe it was the sense of loss and despair that consumed him at the thought of even losing Mark. He didn't know why; he just knew that he needed to, or he would regret for the rest of his life.  
  
"Mark," he said steadily, dropping the _hyung_ for the first time. Mark's lips parted in surprise as he looked up at JB, his expression part-hopeful and part-afraid. "Don't give up on me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am so sorry i haven't replied comments on the last chapter but i will do so asap! shoutout to my cookie who introduced gwi arae, shine and many other great songs to me :3 the songs ai ni and bad person are actually from the ost of fondant garden, one of my fave tdramas which i also drew a lot of inspiration from writing this fic i highly recommend watching it! im sorry the markbum became angsty and mark became so moony and emo idek what happened to his characterization oTL


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is mature.

Junior blinked, unsure if he had heard correctly. Had Jackson just asked him out on a date? Like, a _date_ date?  
  
Thankfully, he only had time to internally freak out for a moment before Jackson continued, sounding touchy, "You've been on so many dates with JB, but not even one with me." His lips were pursed up so disgruntedly, he was almost pouting. It was the most adorable thing Junior had ever seen since Chewbaca in Star Wars. He bit his lip to prevent himself from unconsciously starting to coo "AWWWWW!"  
  
He also felt an inseparable, odd mixture of disappointment and relief, thankful he hadn't let his hopes get up or he would be feeling foolish now. So Jackson only meant a friendly date. He wasn't surprised.  
  
He smiled compliantly and amenably. "Sure." He tried to sound breezy. "My day off this week is on Thursday."  
  
Jackson's lips twitched, like he was trying not to smile too, but his eyes were flashing with excitement that made Junior's heart do somersaults. "That's a deal then. You're mine all Thursday," he said authoritatively, and Junior suppressed a shiver at the possessiveness with which he said the word _mine_.  
  
"Are you free on that day too?" he frowned, and Jackson turned back from where he was already striding away with purpose.

"I'll make myself free," he just said simply, the confidence of the words in his deep voice sounding like a promise.  
  
  
  
On Thursday morning, though he didn't have to work, he set his alarm as usual and leapt out of bed early, full of nervous energy and adrenalin. Even though it was just a friendship date, it was still the first time he and Jackson were going out alone, together for a whole day and he couldn't help the dopey grin that had been plastered on his face almost all of yesterday till JB asked if he was high on something. The previous night, he had asked Mark for permission to stay back after closing again, this time forbidding Jackson to stay firmly as he was sure he wouldn't be able to get anything substantial done with Jackson hanging around and making the butterflies in his stomach flutter. No matter how much Jackson sulked or wheedled, he refused, only relenting eventually to agree to JB staying with him to help if someone had to.  
  
"JB can help me get the work done faster," he pointed out reasonably. "You'll just get in the way."  
  
Jackson's face looked stormy in a way that made his stomach flip, suddenly afraid that they would have an ugly row right on the night just before the much-anticipated date, and Jackson would call the whole thing off. He twisted his clammy palms into the fabric of his apron as the frayed silence lengthened, until Jackson finally seemed to give in with an effort too, face relaxing into a still unsmiling but resigned expression. "Whatever," he muttered reluctantly and sloped off. But later that night, after he had gone home with the maknaes and left Junior and JB behind alone in the closed-up bakery, Junior opened his phone to find a text from Jackson: "Be back before 1am."  
  
The commanding tone was a little rude, but Junior found himself smiling as he tucked the phone back into his pocket. He debated replying with _Don't wait up for me_ for a little while, but dismissed the idea as sounding too intimate and loverlike. _Friends_ , he reminded himself sternly. _Bros_. That was all he and Jackson were, and would ever be.  
  
It lifted his spirits to see that the day had dawned with pleasant weather, the sun filtering through the clouds and a slight breeze ruffling the curtains of his window carrying the sweet scent of fall blossoms. He pulled on his favourite high-waisted jeans that Jackson had helped him pick out on that supermarket trip and tucked a casual but fitting tee into it, topping off the outfit with a washed navy blue denim jacket. He dashed down the corridor to the toilet to fix his hair and style it with some hairspray. Jackson's door was closed when he passed it, so he couldn't tell if he was still sleeping. He felt shy to knock, worrying absurdly if Jackson would answer the door nude or other ridiculous possibilities, and decided to hope that Jackson would remember to wake up on time and meet him downstairs at the time they arranged.  
  
Anyway, he had plenty to prepare before being ready. After he had tousled his hair into a hopefully casual-looking arrangement, he brushed his teeth and gargled with mouthwash before he skidded down the stairs to the kitchen, trying not to let the undimmable excitement overwhelm him. The dormitory building was deserted, most of the other guys having left for work or school already. He had told them not to leave breakfast for the both of them in the kitchen as they would be eating in town later, but only JB knew he had prepared a spread of food for a picnic. How could he resist such a good opportunity? Picnics in autumn were one of the wishes right on the top of his bucket list. As for picnics in autumn _with Jackson_ , well...  
  
The previous night, JB had taken the chance to bake a few goodies for Mark too. Junior wondered with a brief curiosity what the status of Mark's unreplied confession was when he saw JB spelling his name in ice blue frosting over a box of cupcakes, but he figured JB would let him know if he wanted to. After they had finished, JB stowed the box in the kitchen refrigerator, looking pleased as he explained that Mark would find it the next morning, while Junior packed his bigger batch into bento boxes which he now retrieved from the fridge. Thankfully, the maknaes hadn't seemed to make too big a dent in the amount and he had predicted their siphoning smartly enough to make extra.  
  
He loaded all the boxes of varying size carefully into his backpack, and when he was done it bulged bulkily, much heavier when he slung it onto his back. Just then, he heard approaching footsteps behind him and his heart leapt as he turned around to see Jackson swaggering towards him. He was wearing a pink-and-cream striped sweater carelessly tucked into skinny jeans that hugged his legs, a baby pink baseball cap, matching biscuit-coloured high-tops and a dreamy, lazy smile. He looked like a boyfie.  
  
It had been sweater weather for awhile now and Junior thought this might be his new favourite season simply for the fluffy, cuddly and snuggly wool-knit sweaters Jackson was decked out in outside of work, sometimes oversized, always adorable. Today's one seemed to have especially long and baggy sleeves which kept slipping down over Jackson's wrists as he brought a fist up to his eye to rub at it sleepily, squinting at Junior. "What's in your bag?"  
  
Junior blushed. "Just some food I made last night," he hedged, trying to ignore the pang in his chest at how achingly adorable Jackson looked with the sweater swallowing his frame and softening the heaviness of his broad shoulders, his sharp edges. When Jackson was his usual tough thorny self Junior worried he might cut himself on Jackson's spikes but when he looked all soft and vulnerable and deceptively harmless like this, Junior didn't know how to even deal with him.  
  
Jackson looked slightly surprised, like he hadn't guessed that Junior had stayed back in the bakery to make food for them the previous night, and slightly guilty, but quickly recovered. "Give it to me," he said with a smile, and eased the backpack off Junior's shoulders casually. He slung it over one of his own shoulders effortlessly, like it didn't weigh a thing, then held out a hand. He didn't turn to face Junior but he noticed that the tips of Jackson's ears were pink, and wiped his own clammy palm nervously on his jacket before slipping it tentatively into Jackson's. Junior could feel the cool metal ridges of the rings he wore when he wasn't working pressing into his skin. Jackson closed his fingers over his hand in a light but strong grip, and then they started off over the courtyard.  
  
  
  
So that Jackson wouldn't have to carry the heavy load all around town, and because they hadn't eaten breakfast yet and were both hungry, Junior suggested going for the picnic first. They headed for a nearby park that he had always wanted to visit but never really had the time. It was full of greenery, trees and colourful flowers, lyrical birdsong filling the air. The grass was emerald green, like a storybook meadow, and Junior stripped off his jacket and spread it on the ground, gesturing for Jackson to sit down. Jackson looked taken aback at his gentlemanliness, and seemed about to take off his own sweater too to Junior's alarm as he had a feeling Jackson wasn't wearing anything underneath.  
  
When he said, "Don't," hoarsely, stopping Jackson with a hand on his arm, Jackson looked up, a cheeky smile spreading slowly across his face. "Okay, then," he drawled. "We'll just have to sit closer together."  
  
Junior swallowed, but couldn't refuse as Jackson tugged him down unceremoniously next to him. They ended up sitting pressed up against each other, with their backs leaning against each other. He could feel Jackson's hair tickling his ears and the back of his neck, the wafting fragrance of his shampoo mingled with cologne and took a deep but subtle whiff.  
  
Jackson was busy unpacking the food, eyes widening at the sheer array. There were blueberry muffins and cut fresh fruits and biscuits and dipping sticks to dunk into another two containers of melted chocolate and cream cheese which Junior had popped in the microwave to melt before they left. Both the muffins and the fondue were items on their menu but Jackson seemed to be moved to speechlessness, as if he hadn't eaten them before.  
  
Suddenly, he almost dropped the box of muffins and their faces were alarmingly close for a moment as Jackson spun around, holding one of the muffins with a blue heart on it. "What is this?" he said raspily.  
  
Junior's heart nearly jumped out of his throat. "I-I didn't make that!" he hastily clarified. "I think JB made it... for Mark."  
  
"Oh." Jackson swallowed, something that looked like disappointment entering his eyes. He turned back to the food, shoving the muffin whole into his mouth and chomping on it viciously. Junior cursed inwardly, wondering if JB had snuck it into his box on purpose, just to mess with him. He wouldn't put it past him, he thought darkly. He didn't know why he felt so embarrassed; it wasn't like it was the first time they had jokingly sent hearts to each other (actually mostly it was Jackson drawing him hearts in his latte art) but it just seemed more momentous, to hold another more significant meaning if he had done it on their date.  
  
A few minutes later Jackson seemed to have forgotten the incident though, laughing so hard he knocked Junior off the square of his jacket and onto the grass as he tried to force-feed Junior a celery stick dipped in chocolate and cheese. "What the hell is this... is this asparagus?" he had exclaimed incredulously as he uncovered another box a few minutes ago, and Junior had retaliated defensively, "Vegetables are good for health!" Now, Jackson was trying to stuff all sorts of weird and gross combinations into his mouth to Junior's useless protests.  
  
Jackson tackled him down with all the strength of his upper body and Junior lost his balance, falling backwards on his back onto the damp grass. Jackson didn't manage to catch his balance in time too and ended up falling on top of him awkwardly, knocking the breath out of his chest. "Are you okay?" he gasped, quickly bracing himself up on his palms over Junior and Junior nodded stiffly, his entire body burning in such close proximity to Jackson's skin and the deliciously shifting muscles beneath it Junior could feel rippling through the thin fabric of both their shirts. Okay, he was pretty sure now Jackson wasn't wearing anything under that sweater.  
  
When he tried to wriggle out of the circle of Jackson's arms and struggle back to a sitting position, though, the concern in Jackson's eyes turned into devilishness and he swiftly wrestled Junior beneath him, pinning him down with strong hands on his wrists. Jackson pinioned them to the ground on either side of his body and straddled his thighs, sitting astride Junior with his ass dangerously close to Junior's crotch. He struggled against Jackson's grasp, avoiding his dark eyes and the overpowering urge to buck his hips up in a motion that would be extremely difficult to explain and forget.  
  
Jackson seemed utterly and blissfully unaware of what was going on in his mind as he made himself comfortable on Junior's thighs, shifting and sighing decadently in a way that made Junior's cock twitch and his breath catch in his throat. His entire body had stiffened up in abject and agonizing discomfort but Jackson didn't seem to notice as he declared childishly, "You're my chair now." and proceeded to continue languidly eating his meal, licking his fingers and making smacking noises with his lips that made Junior curl his hands into fists and dig his fingernails into his skin. Jackson had let go of his hands to eat but he didn't want to make an unwise move without calculating the consequences, realising that things could be worse if he, for example, jerked his body up suddenly and dislodged Jackson, bringing their faces uncomfortably close and maybe even making Jackson fall over in which case he would have to save him by catching him in his arms and end up in an even more awkward pose. Okay, so maybe he was overthinking, but the view of Jackson from down here wasn't too bad objectively. Maybe he would appreciate it a few seconds longer, just until Jackson finished peeling the skin off that grape with his teeth and licking it with his tongue like he was born to do this.  
  
After Jackson had stuffed himself with a bit more food, he seemed to be full and stretched with an expression of satiated contentment, the movement making the hem of the sweater ride up on his hips. It was so long that no skin was revealed, but just the glimpse of his jeans-clad hipbone had Junior's heart doing things in his chest and his hand snaking closer uncontrollably to close over the wool and tug it back down. Jackson happened to look down just then, catching him in the act, and the flash of confusion in his eyes made Junior drop the hem like he was scalded.  
  
Mercifully, Jackson finally got off him and Junior could sit up, his muscles tense from holding them rigid for so long. Without warning, Jackson's hand reached apprehensively up to his hair and Junior froze until he realised Jackson was just picking blades of grass out. After a few minutes though, even when all the grass seemed to be gone, Jackson continued stroking his hair absently, ruffling Junior's hair with a gentle hand like Junior was a pet dog. He cleared his throat and moved away slightly, breaking the spell. Jackson flushed and dropped his head. His hair was all mussed up too from the scuffle, his clothes looking disheveled and Junior didn't know where to look.  
  
"Do you want to do some sky-gazing?" Jackson suggested abruptly, breaking the silence.  
  
Junior breathed a shaky laugh. "What's that?"  
  
Jackson smiled, a little of his swagger returning. "It's like star-gazing, but at the sky," he replied matter-of-factly, like it was obvious, and proceeded to lie back on Junior's jacket with his head pillowed against both hands. Junior inhaled softly, and after a moment lay back beside him, their bodies not touching but their hair brushing each other's faces when they turned. Jackson's chest rose and fell gently.  
  
It was late morning by now and the sky was a brilliant aerosol blue, with only a few wisps of cotton candy clouds drifting languorously across. The sun was hidden behind a bank of clouds so they didn't have to squint, and Junior sneaked a sideways glance to see Jackson's profile, the regal slope of his nose bathed in the gentle sunlight, his eyelashes surprisingly long as they fanned gracefully across his cheekbones. His skin glowed efferverscently in the soft sunshine, cherry-red lips parted slightly invitingly. All his features were relaxed in utter serenity and Junior felt such a hunger deep inside him that he couldn't speak for a second.  
  
He didn't know when he fell asleep, Jackson's breaths evening out peacefully beside him and the mild breeze lulling him into a shallow doze. But when he woke up, the sun had climbed in the sky to the angle of midday and Jackson was still lying next to him, eyes closed. He thought he was asleep until he tried to get up and realised Jackson had tied both their shoelaces together.  
  
Well, presumably it might have been a naughty kid who wandered by and chanced upon them sleeping, deciding to play a prank and tied them together, but from the irrepressible smile tugging at the corner of Jackson's lips even as he valiantly pretended to still be sleeping, Junior wasn't betting on it.  
  
He slapped Jackson's thigh in mock outrage. "Why did you do this, idiot?"  
  
Jackson gave up the act and sat up, yawning fakely. He moved his foot, tugging at Junior's shoe abruptly and Junior made a noise of protest and yanked it back. "I didn't!" Jackson widened his eyes innocently. "Who's the brat that did this? Show yourself!" He narrowed his eyes at Junior. "Did you do this by any chance?"  
  
The kick that Junior gave him in the shin made him yelp. "If you didn't do it, untie us right now."  
  
"No," Jackson pouted, rubbing at his calf sorely. "Do it yourself if you can." And with a smirk, he stood up, jerking Junior's shoe towards him, and attempted to run away, practically yanking Junior's leg out of its socket.  
  
"OI!" he bellowed, but Jackson didn't stop his motion, leaving him no choice but to struggle to his feet too, running after Jackson or more accurately being dragged by him in a bizarre and chaotic three-legged race as Jackson cackled madly, running around the field with Junior literally at his heels.  
  
But when Junior's ankle twisted sideways and he stumbled and fell ungracefully in a heap, bringing Jackson breathlessly down on top of him again and crushing the air out of his lungs, the laughter was immediately wiped out of his eyes as he ran his hands lightly over Junior's body and searched his eyes anxiously. "Are you hurt?"  
  
Junior blinked, and was surprised to feel a wet tear trailing down the side of his face. Jackson's face changed. "Oh my god," he breathed, hands stilling on Junior's arms. "Where does it hurt? I'm so sorry --" he twisted around with difficulty to undo the tangled knot of their shoelaces, then helped Junior into a sitting position with his arms steady behind his shoulders. Junior leaned into his chest, burying his face in Jackson's sweater and took deep breaths. Jackson's arm tightened around him.  
  
"Where does it hurt?" he whispered again, urgently, and Junior swallowed over the lump in his throat and lied that his ankle seemed to have a minor sprain because he didn't know how to explain how since he had come to America from Korea more than a year ago, no one had ever looked at him before with such care and tenderness. And he had never expected Jackson, of all people, to. For some reason, that had broken him in two.  
  
Jackson switched from immature and juvenile playfulness to solicitous and serious concern so quickly it made Junior's head spin. He wondered which was the real Jackson, and why he looked so vulnerable as Junior nuzzled his cheek deeper into Jackson's sweatered shoulder and snuffled contentedly as Jackson rubbed circles into his ankle soothingly.  
  
  
  
After they had spent hours at the park -- much longer than they had planned -- it was early afternoon by then and the sun was growing stronger so Jackson pulled his cap back over his head and they packed the plastic containers back into Junior's backpack. Jackson slung the much lighter and flatter bag over his shoulder again and turned to Junior with a bright and open smile. "Where to next?"  
  
Junior bit his lip and his mind spun as Jackson's eyes snapped down to his mouth, then quickly back up to his eyes again, looking dazed. "W-where do you want to go?" he stammered.  
  
Jackson cleared his throat. "Um..."  
  
  
  
Fifteen minutes later and they were outside a nearby arcade in Chinatown, the gaudily flashing colourful lights illuminating Jackson's exuberant expression. It looked like they weren't going to go downtown to the shopping district or to catch a movie after all today but it didn't matter to Junior because he had had more fun just going to these mundane places and doing mundane things with Jackson after all. Jackson looked gleeful as he purchased tokens with a pocketful of coins which he counted out to the pimply and bored teenager behind the counter with satisfaction. He walked up to Junior, jingling the tokens in his hand eagerly. "What do you want to play first?"  
  
Junior wandered past the row of stationary motorcycles and basketball hoops, to the Para Para Paradise booth at the corner of the arcade. He shedded his glasses and jacket and held them out to Jackson. "Help me hold it," was all he said before grabbing a handful of tokens and inserting them into the slot. The music started up and he felt the beat flow through his body, making his limbs twitch with the familiar rhythm. It would come as a surprise to Jackson that he was a thespian of arcades, back in Korea and this was his most accomplished game.  
  
Sure enough, he caught sight of Jackson's mouth falling open in astonishment from the corner of his eyes, but he didn't stop dancing, movements growing more confident and vigorous as he warmed up to the music. He had missed dancing; it was one of his many casual hobbies as a teenager and he knew he was a good dancer. Now, from the low wolf-whistles and catcalls from the crowd of growing girls and boys who had gathered around him in awe, he knew that he still looked good.  
  
He danced till he broke the record high score, till he had worked up a sweat that pasted his shirt to his back and the bystanders broke out in admiring applause. When the third song was over, he stepped off the platform, smiling and blushing as he bowed slightly to the scattering group of mostly adoring girls. Jackson was still standing to the side with his mouth slightly open, like Junior had just taken off all his clothes and yelled that he was gay and in love in the middle of the arcade. He was looking at Junior like he had never seen him before but when Junior ran a hand through his damp matted hair, pushing his bangs back and reached out for more tokens Jackson pulled his hand back, narrowing his eyes. To Junior's surprise, he firmly propped Junior's glasses back on his nose and draped his jacket clumsily around his shoulders, steering him away.  
  
"Hey, I still want to play!" he protested, confused, but Jackson said snootily. "It's my turn. I'm tired of watching you."  
  
Junior huffed but obligingly watched Jackson shoot hoops for a few rounds, enjoying the view of Jackson's forearms revealed by his rolled-up sleeves a little more than he should. Then they both played against each other in a racing game till the tokens were nearly used up. They had too few tokens to play any other games so Jackson headed for the claw machine, even though Junior was reluctant because from his experience they were always rigged.  
  
"Which one do you want?" Jackson asked him, smiling indulgently like his sugar daddy -- okay, he needed to stop this train of thought right there -- and he nervously looked into the glass window of the machine.  
  
"That one," he said, pointing to a huge Rilakkuma human-sized body pillow. It was the biggest prize in the machine and he was pretty sure no one would ever be able to get it out till like, a hundred years later when they took it apart.  
  
Jackson's eyes lit up. "You like that?" he asked, and Junior nodded, unable to resist smiling slightly back at Jackson's infectious grin.  
"Okay," Jackson replied confidently, like that settled it. "I'll get it for you." Junior watched in disbelief as Jackson took his eyes off him and trained them fixedly on the plushie, his gaze growing serious. He gripped the gear stick tightly and inserted the remaining tokens, which were just enough to entitle them to one try.  
  
Junior watched indulgently, holding literally zero hopes at all and ready to go in a minute after Jackson had had his fun and pretended there was any possibility of getting it at all. Jackson moved the claw carefully backwards towards the head of the Rilakkuma, and when it was directly above he pushed the lever down to lower it.  
  
Junior's eyes widened comically, his mouth dropping open in sheer flabbergasted astoundment as the claw closed over the head and successfully picked the plushie up, dropping it into the chute. He couldn't believe his eyes even when Jackson crouched down to pull it out of the small chute with difficulty, almost getting stuck. He stood up, face flushed with pride and glee as he presented the body pillow to Junior, who took it with trembling hands.  
  
"How...?" was all he could breathe. Jackson laughed at the gobsmacked look on his face. "Oh, did I forget to mention?" he drawled offhandedly, slicking back his sideburns obnoxiously. "I'm a claw machine expert."  
  
By the time they left the arcade it was almost evening and Junior felt blissfully tired but slightly bummed that the glorious day would be ending soon. It was the most exhilarating day that he had had in a long time, and he envied the girls who were able to go on romantic dates with Jackson, if he already knew how to make a friendly one so fun. He wondered what Jackson would say if he boldly asked him out on another one.  
  
Jackson asked if he was hungry and suggested that they go to a nearby Korean barbeque restaurant to fill their stomachs. Junior had been not-so-subtly and with more than a little bitterness dropping hints that he wanted Jackson to take him to eat meat for some time since Bambam had revealed that Jackson once treated him to _gogi_ some time before Junior had gotten to know them. Jackson fed him the first bite of meat, they had a love shot, and then Jackson complained when he found that the lunch boxes they had ordered were spicy -- generally their meal was as disorderly as all the ones they had together. Junior laughed till his cheeks and his stomachs hurt and when they were so full they couldn't eat another bite they packed up the rest as takeaways for the other boys in the dormitory.  
  
Jackson paid the bill like a... Junior refused to say or even think the word, but as Jackson pulled him closer in the chilly night air, hooking his arm around Junior's shoulder and huddling together to share body warmth, he felt something in him finally relax, something that had been strung tightly ever since he arrived alone in the US, alone and uncertain of the future. He felt like he had finally set down a weight he had been unconsciously carrying since then, felt it sliding unobtrusively onto Jackson's broad shoulders. He felt his eyes prickle with the overwhelming flood of relief and quickly blinked before he teared up again. It seemed like everything had changed in just one day, and as he met Jackson's eyes under the festive strings of lights draped between the lampposts glowing amber along the quiet street, his obsidian orbs seemed to glow with heart-stopping possibility.  
  
The plushie was so big, it kept getting stuck in every single door all the way till he squeezed it into his bedroom with Jackson's help and dumped it onto his bed, heaving a sigh of relief. He flung himself down on the edge too and Jackson took a step closer, looking down at him with inscrutable eyes. "Hug me," he murmured, and Junior's eyes widened, his heart halting. "What?"  
  
Jackson coughed. "I said, hug it," he said louder, redness spreading to his neck. He shoved his hands into his jeans pocket and fumbled, fishing out his phone. Abruptly, he pointed it at Junior, who floundered as he picked up the Rilakkuma doll again and held it in his arms. "Like this?" He posed awkwardly and heard a click as Jackson snapped a picture.  
  
"Hey, why do you want that?" Junior squeaked as Jackson backed out of the room, smirking at his phone in a way that made Junior feel like he had been manipulated. He didn't expect Jackson to answer, but a few seconds later after Jackson had disappeared out of sight he heard his voice calling back, deep with amusement, "For my new home screen!"  
  
  
  
That night, Junior lay in bed hugging the Rilakkuma plushie, draping his arms and legs over it and imagining it was Jackson lying two rooms and four walls away, sleeping soundly and definitely not thinking of Junior too. He thought of how he hadn't touched a drop of alcohol since he met Jackson and started working at the patisserie, hadn't even had the urge to when he used to drink like a fish; how the insomnia which used to plague him had disappeared without a trace and he now slept like a baby. His skin had cleared up and he felt healthier, stronger, glowing from the inside. Were these the effects of love? It couldn't be, because Junior knew -- Jackson was bad for him. And he had to stay away. But why, despite knowing so, did he find himself here, a heartbeat away from Jackson, and enjoying it anyway? And why did he have a sinking suspicion that out of all the addictions in the world, Jackson was the most corrupt vice of all?  
  
  
x  
  
  
It was one of those very rare lulls when Junior could handle the kitchen on his own and Mark and JB had slipped out at the same time to share a quick cigarette. Just a five-minute-long interlude, but they were alone, and it was all that mattered.  
  
Since the day JB had asked Mark not to give up on him, and Mark had froze, his eyes widening for a millisecond before he blushed prettily and inclined his head in what JB took as agreement, they hadn't discussed the subject further. JB wondered how their relationship would be defined now, wanting to take a step forward and yet unsure of what he was allowed. Mark seemed to be letting him take the wheel, not making any more advances. Now that he knew he had Mark's permission and silent acknowledgment, the dreams that disturbed JB at night were quieter, calmer but more intense at the same time, like a deep, simmering but breathtakingly hot burning. He dreamt of Mark beneath him, above him, on top of him and crying out his name with a passion that he had never before heard and only witnessed once in Mark's eyes, so dark and gleaming with raw lust as he saw JB from his door that JB couldn't help climaxing.  
  
But generally, at times like now, he tried not to think of such agitating and violent feelings. It seemed like a dream, almost impossible that they could have existed between them as they quietly and relaxedly leaned side by side against the wall of the alley, Mark standing in his usual position with leg bent at the knee and his scruffy work boot hitched up against the wall. His face was hidden behind a cloud of smoke, eyes hazy and indecipherable and JB took a long draining drag of his own stick too. The silence stretched out immeasurably.  
  
Turning slightly, he noticed that coincidentally, Mark was standing in the space exactly between the two wings Momo had painted on the day they graffiti-ed the wall, large white feathered wings that were outstretched in flight. He looked like the most beautiful angel JB had ever seen in any film or movie or his imagination.  
  
He wanted to freeze this moment in eternity, take a picture that he could in private scrutinize and examine in painful detail. He wanted to etch this moment into his memory, because it was at this instant that he knew with excruciating and exhilarating clarity: He loved Mark Tuan. He was in love with Mark.  
  
JB dropped the cigarette on the floor, his heart pounding. He grinded out the ashes slowly with his sneaker, then looked up to see Mark watching him with a questioning gaze. JB raised his hand and caught Mark's cigarette on the way to his mouth, and tossed it to the ground too. Mark looked confused as he stepped on it with the heel of his shoe, then slowly and hesitantly pushed himself off the wall, stepping closer to stand in front of Mark. JB placed a hand on the wall beside Mark's head and watched Mark follow his movement, eyes softening as a breath hitched in his throat.  
  
When JB's voice came out, it was hoarse and rusty. "I'm sorry for making you wait so long for me," he said, then cleared his throat in embarrassment and licked his dry lips. Mark's eyes flickered down from his eyes to his mouth, and lingered.  
  
When he raised them back to meet JB's again with an effort, JB's chest tightened at the darkness in them. "It was my pleasure," Mark said, voice equally low. Unexpectedly, he reached up with a hand and grabbed the collar of JB's shirt, but with surprising gentleness. Before JB could react, Mark had tugged him down with a firm arm, crashing their lips together, his mouth moving against JB's hot and hungry with a passionate longing. Mark ran his tongue impatiently along the line of JB's lips and JB quickly and obligingly parted them, panting loudly as his trembling hands rose up behind Mark's back to thread tentatively through his hair, then run down to the nape of his neck and cradle the back of his head, holding him close. Mark licked into his mouth and found his tongue, sliding his own sensually against JB's with a skill that made JB's head spin. He tasted deliciously of an intoxicating mixture of nicotine and spun sugar and JB's fingers curled involuntarily in a fistful of his uniform, hauling him closer. Mark's hands moved eagerly down his shoulders too, caressing his shoulder blades in a way that made his cock stiffen, then moved purposefully down his back to his ass, squeezing it hard. JB felt an unfamiliar and electric current running through his veins as Mark pressed his fingers along the crack of his ass, pulling JB's crotch bodily against his as he rolled his hips in a way that made JB shudder, losing his senses for a white hot moment.  
  
The layers of both their uniforms and aprons were too much, getting in the way frustratingly, and JB felt his head swim with the all-consuming urge to tear off every single article of Mark's clothes right here in the alley of the bakery, two walls away from all the other staff and one from Junior, unwrap him as slowly and enjoyably as a present on Christmas day, making him writhe and beg. The only thing grounding him, keeping him tethered to reality was Mark's hand light and trusting on his shoulder, bracing himself up with an effort as he buried his face in JB's chest and JB could feel his own chest heaving with the effort of supressing his desire, his nails digging into JB's arm almost as painfully as his erection into JB's thigh.  
  
It lifted him clean off the ground to think that he could work Mark up so violently with just a short kiss -- their first kiss, but still -- that Mark's desire for him was so obvious and undisguised, so _physical_. There was no doubt in the world now that they both desired each other, needed each other both physically and emotionally. This new clarity was so crystalline that JB wondered how he could ever have doubted, how he could ever have thought that this wasn't real. He had been suppressing his feelings for so long, repressing himself till they had manifested in twisted ways that hurt both him and Mark. In retrospect, he couldn't understand why he had wasted so much time dithering stupidly, time that could have been wiser used had he come to his senses earlier and stopped running away from the inevitable. He had been a coward, letting his inferiority complex and insecurities stand in his way, hiding behind excuses and meaningless platitudes. He had made something which was in fact so simple into something infinitely more complex, because he had been terrified by the intensity of his feelings. He had never felt this way about any other human being in his life, either male or female, and he didn't know how to deal with it. So he had tried to reason the inexplicable feelings away, shut them in a box, not realizing that love couldn't be analyzed or calculated. Feelings were messy and senseless and couldn't be explained like theorems or worked out neatly like equations. And it was when he finally accepted this simple revelation, that the weight that had been pushing down his shoulders for the past few months slid off like angels being released.  
  
And this was how he knew that Mark was a braver person than he would ever be. Because he been honest with himself as well as JB, never avoiding the difficult confrontations or pushing the responsibility to JB. Because even now, as JB looked down at him with all the wordless tenderness and regret and frustration and sorrowful apology burning from his eyes, Mark only reached out breathlessly, smiling as he pushed JB's bangs out of his eyes and gazed into them with only the utmost acceptance and wordless understanding. Would JB ever forgive himself for the pain he had unintentionally caused Mark? He doubted it, but it was still nice to know that one of them had forgiven him.  
  
  
  
With a sizeable effort from both of them, they managed to get themselves back under control, the only indication of their disturbed composures Mark's slightly ragged breathing and his dilated pupils, an unholy dark in the late afternoon light. JB slipped into the kitchen first, ordering Mark with more than a little rough possessiveness in his voice to wait a few minutes more and tidy himself up because he looked a mess before going in. Mark looked down meekly and smiled demurely, adjusting his apron obediently, but there was a wolfish glint in his eyes that made JB suspect he knew exactly how debauched he looked and was enjoying the effect it had on JB. He shook his head to clear these uncharitable thoughts, feeling guilty for twisting Mark's innocence with his own gutter mind.  
  
  
  
After that day, they never had a chance to take a break together again, but they would find themselves exchanging conspiratorial and knowing smiles, even when Junior was around, a silent and wordless caress in Mark's eyes, in the hands which casually but possessively held JB's hips for a moment before reluctantly letting go as they squeezed past each other in the narrow space between the counter and the ovens. JB wondered what Mark would say, how he would look if he knew JB had gone home on that day and jerked himself off with long slow strokes in the shower imagining that his fingers were Mark's tapered, deft ones, then trailed them down towards his twitching hole. He had managed to ease one of them in when he nearly blacked out from the sheer foreignness of the situation, the unbearable tightness and yet the unexpected jolt of pleasure that hit him in waves the moment he pictured Mark working his fingers inside him, opening JB up with utmost careful tenderness. He had never touched himself there before, never even thought he would ever want to, but now it seemed like the most natural thing in the world to desire Mark inside him in the most intimate way possible.  
  
JB wondered if Mark found the waiting as excruciating as he did, and if so, what he was waiting for. As for JB, he knew -- he was waiting for the courage to tell Mark, his face burning with shame, that he wanted Mark to put his dick in him. He wanted Mark to thrust his dick in him and fuck JB till he was sobbing. Maybe Mark would be horrified -- and rightfully so -- because what man had such twisted desires? Especially since he wasn't slight and pretty like Mark, but ungainly and masculine and coarse. It was a dirty unspeakable secret he could never bring himself to utter out loud but JB wanted it more and more with every day.  
  
  
  
One of the first times he truly witnessed Mark losing his temper was the day JB burned himself a couple of weeks later while taking a batch of scones out of the oven. He was more distracted nowadays, for obvious reasons -- the biggest distraction in his life was working next to him ten hours a day, in the kitchen. So he had been dropping things, forgetting to add ingredients -- harmless and reparable mistakes, until he scalded himself by reaching into the oven for the hot metal tray without a glove on.  
  
His hiss of pain brought Mark running immediately, dropping the task he was working on. When he saw the angry red branded across JB's fingers, he burst out shouting for the first time since JB had known him.  
  
"Didn't I tell you not to hurt your hand again?" He slammed a fist into the counter as JB cowered, eyes wide with fright.  
  
"Sorry... It was an accident --"  
  
Mark's arms came up around his shoulders as he swiftly steered JB towards the sink and ran the faucet, gently rinsing JB's wound till the stinging sensation subsided. JB could still sense the displeasure emanating off him in almost tangibly heated waves. He flicked the tap off brusquently and placed his hands on JB's shoulders, turning him around to face him and taking a bold step into JB's personal space, ignoring the way JB flinched and pressed himself back against the metal edge of the sink, the steel digging into his spine.  
  
Mark's eyes were dark with dissatisfaction but his hand was contrastingly gentle as he picked up JB's hurt one, bringing it slowly to his lips. He held JB's eyes in the grip of his own intense ones as he kissed his hurt fingers tenderly. "This is mine," he murmured softly, enunciating the words clearly and firmly. He lowered his attention to JB's hand and began trailing butterfly kisses as light as air down the length of his arm, pausing at the crook of his elbow and mouthing against his skin, "Mine."  
  
Slowly, patiently, Mark continued to trace a loveline up to the sleeve of his uniform, then over his neck and Adam's apple, down the other arm before he pressed hot lips into the middle of JB's unhurt palm, and said, voice low, "All mine."  
  
He put down JB's tingling hand and raised his eyes again to meet JB's saucer-like ones. "This," he said, raking his eyes down JB's body, "is my property, so if you hurt it, I will be very, very angry."  
  
JB shuddered at the warning in Mark's eyes, heat pooling in his stomach at the insolent glitter of lust he saw in the not so distant depths. "You don't want to make me angry, JB," Mark said lightly, tracing his callused thumb over the exact spot he had left the hickey months ago, his intent clear, and JB gulped loudly.  
  
"Y-yes, hyung," he whimpered.  
  
"Mark," Mark said, hand tightening over his, and he quickly echoed, "Mark."  
  
At this, Mark finally smiled, seeming appeased as he dropped a careless but burning kiss at the corner of JB's jaw, brushing chapped lips over his skin.  
  
  
x  
  
  
Sometimes Junior felt ridiculous maternal instincts about Jackson, like when he was acting like a four-year-old, which was most of the time. Others, he felt like killing him, like when Jackson had sneaked up behind him and dropped an ice cube into his collar, making him shriek as the freezing sensation skated down his spine and fell into the depths of his clothes, hopelessly inaccessible. He yelled all the Korean and English and even Chinese (which Jackson had taught him in a very bad influence) curse words he knew as Jackson dodged out of his grasp, flashing him his bratty grin as Junior chased him around the bakery till Mark stepped out of the kitchen and asked frowning what the ruckus was about.  
  
This was still the game they found themselves playing; even now -- vying for each other's attention, acting like archenemies on the outside but subconsciously seeking each other's approval, feeling neglected when they lost the spotlight of each other's gaze. Junior would never let Jackson know that he had gotten the upper hand, that he was the only person who had ever managed to climb under Junior's skin like this. It would be all he needed if Jackson became more bigheaded and conceited than he already was. Despite not being a nerd like Junior or JB, Jackson was none less competitive than either of them -- in fact, he was more. He was the kind of person who never backed down from a challenge, who was breathtakingly ambitious with enormous appetites; the kind who won medals at the Olympics (which had proved to be right when Jackson told him he had won one for fencing when he was fifteen). And being around him loosened Junior's inhibitions, made him less tightly strung and more wild and reckless.  
  
  
  
Still, he tried to resist some of Jackson's wayward influences. Like when he offered a puff of his cigarette to him, no matter how deliciously it made Junior's head spin with the possibility and implication of an indirect kiss -- he still always said no. He wasn't a good boy -- far from it, but surprisingly out of all the vices he had taken up through his young adulthood smoking had not been one of them. And he intended to keep it that way, no matter how tempting and alluring Jackson was being whining "Zhenrong~" in the cutesy voice he used when he wanted to get something. Jackson looked disgruntled and disappointed by his rebuff, but Junior noticed that he never pushed him beyond his limits and always respected his wishes.  
  
Other times, Jackson unexpectedly drew out all his protective instincts, like the time they were in the alley together on a rare coinciding break. Jackson was smoking while Junior was passive smoking from inhaling all his secondhand smoke. He finished his cigarette and promptly reached into his jeans pocket for another one, and Junior was concerned to see how empty his crumpled and flattened box of Marlboros was. He only just then noticed how many ashy stumps were littered around Jackson's feet, grinded out relentlessly by the soles of his sneakers.  
  
"Are you alright?" he ventured tentatively, trying to sound light. "You should cut down on the cigarettes, it'll ruin your lungs."  
  
Jackson snorted humourlessly. "Yes, mom." It was exasperating when he got sarcastic and quarrelsome like that, in one of his moods, but Junior could never predict them. Now, he bit back the retort on the tip of his tongue -- _This is what I get for being concerned_ \-- and figuring Jackson would prefer to be alone, shoved himself off the wall and started back towards the back door without replying.  
Jackson's bitter voice stopped his hand on the knob. "It's not like anyone would care if I died early."  
  
"I would!" Junior burst out angrily, unable to contain the upset edge to his voice. He struggled to get his emotions under control, while Jackson had looked up, the cigarette falling to his side and his eyes wide with surprise at Junior's display of emotion.  
  
Junior let his hand fall from the door too, and took a deep breath. He softened his voice as he said, "If there's anything bothering you, you can talk to me." The vulnerability that flashed across Jackson's eyes cut straight to his heart.  
  
  
  
That day was the first time Jackson told him more about his past, and his adolescent friendship with Mark.  
  
"Do you know the saying: Jack of all trades, master of none? I've kind of always felt like that. Mark and I went to the same international school when my family moved from Hong Kong to Taiwan in my first year of high school. I met Mark when he was held back and had to repeat a grade and we were placed in the same class. There was no one in the class register with last names starting with U or V, so Wang was right after Tuan and since we had a lot in common, we clicked pretty quickly. We would ditch classes and play hooky together every so often, since neither of us were much interested in books. Even then, Mark already loved baking as a hobby and he would bring cakes and breads to school for me to sample at lunch. I think I put on five pounds from him feeding me. In contrast, I didn't really have an ambition. I had learned and liked fencing when I was little but as I was older, gave up on pursuing it competitively."  
  
I dropped out of school six months before graduation, and after he graduated with less than stellar results, I reconnected with Mark and he told me his family was sending him to Paris to study baking and asked me casually if I wanted to go along. At first, I just laughed because what would I even do in Paris? I'd never thought of leaving Asia before. But when my parents heard about it, they were surprisingly enthusiastic. They knew and had always liked Mark and wanted to get me out of the house where I had been bumming around for months with no university prospects, so they said they would pay to send me to a hospitality institute in the same state as Mark's baking school. My mother pleaded with me to at least get some kind of certificate or basic qualifications that would help me to get a decent job in future to support myself after they were gone. My family was pretty well-to-do, but my parents said the money wouldn't last forever and they didn't want me to be a wastrel. So with no better options and half-assed feelings, I followed Mark to Paris and we moved into a cheap apartment together."  
  
I was surprised to find that I liked Paris more than I thought I would. I was unexpectedly better at learning languages than studying, and quickly became fluent in French. In the day, I would go to the hospitality institute and learn halfheartedly about how to make perfect creases in bedlinens and handle rowdy hotel guests. At night, I would tutor Mark in French while we ate the leftover pastries he had baked in his classes that day. I liked the weather in Paris, the pace of life and the friendliness of Parisians. I liked the girls, but the pretty ones always liked Mark. The only girl Mark had an eye for was his baking teacher (She was fifty). Bartending and making a decent coffee were just two of the many skills I picked up at hospitality school. So... that's the saying that comes to mind when I think of myself -- Jack of all trades, master of none. I'm passably decent at a number of useless skills, but there's nothing I'm genuinely good at, like Mark or you or JB. I do my job well, but I'm not passionate about it. I never thought I would stick with it for so long, to be honest. In the beginning, it was just a temporary means to earn money and support myself here. But the years flew past and now I'm nearly thirty and still stuck in this dead-end... well, it's not exactly the most glamorous job, is it?"  
  
"You're not nearly thirty."  
  
"I'm a quarter of a century old. Old enough to wonder what I'm doing with my life."  
  
"I think you could be doing worse. You should be proud of yourself. You made all this possible for Mark-hyung. He couldn't have set up the bakery, and fulfilled his dream, without your backing and support."  
  
"I know. And I'm happy to do it because he's my best friend. Back when we were in Paris and I was hit by strong bouts of homesickness, Mark would bake me Portuguese egg tarts that tasted exactly identical to the ones back in Macau my mother baked for me as a kid. He would run out in the middle of the night to Chinatown to buy me dim sum when I had midnight cravings. He took care of me; still takes care of me a lot -- he's offered to make me manager many times, but I figured I should leave the job for someone who's actually interested. I'm earning a comfortable salary, and I'm happy here in the US. I have friends and I feel at home here. But after all, this is still his dream, not mine. It was his big American dream and I just tagged along to accompany him."  
  
"... I see. I understand how you feel. But... I'm still glad that you're working here."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because if you weren't, I would never have met you."  
  
  
  
Because Jackson was usually such a smooth operator, so glib and slick and in command, when he let down his guard like that and trusted Junior with intimate confidences, Junior was utterly unprepared. Jackson revealing the vulnerabilities and frailties he hid behind that tough exterior was something he couldn't calculate and made his heart ache.  
  
In the following afternoons, Junior was surprised, gratified and flattered to hear Jackson opening up more about his life and memories of growing up in Hong Kong. He told Junior about the bustling nightlife of Central, exotic Kowloon Bay; the romance of Tsim Sha Tsui and the city lights sprawled out beneath Victoria Peak, twinkling in the peaceful dark of night. He waxed lyrical about the casinos in Macau, which he promised he would take Junior to and show him around one day, declaring that he was confident Junior would be his lucky star and lead him to a windfall.  
  
In exchange, Junior told him about the duckboats on the Han River and how he had always dreamed of taking a romantic and leisurely boat ride, paddling together with the person he loved and enjoying a mundane and meandering conversation. He wisely didn't mention that right now, the only person he could imagine taking this ride with him was none other than Jackson. Jackson was so unapologetically and uniquely himself that he took Junior's breath away, and Junior didn't understand why Jackson was unsatisfied with his personal achievements because he felt that Jackson was a person anyone would be proud to be, and proud to be with.  
  
  
  
He felt that he should repay Jackson with a confidance of his own, like a fair exchange of secrets to express to Jackson how grateful he was for his trust. So on another ubiquitous afternoon, when Jackson was thankfully smoking at a slower and less stressed pace, Junior took a deep breath and asked, "If I tell you a secret, will you promise not to judge me?"  
  
Jackson looked up, surprise written on his face. "Do you know..." he said softly, eyes smiling, "... that it's the first time you've ever volunteered to tell me something about yourself?"  
  
"Is it?" he said with surprise of his own, because he had never thought himself particularly secretive. Jackson nodded and smiled, without resentment. "Tell me," he said simply. "I won't judge you, so don't worry."  
  
"Um..." Even though Junior had decided to tell Jackson the truth frankly, his hands still felt sweaty as he twisted them together nervously. "I lived in Manhattan once, for a month."  
  
Jackson raised an eyebrow and took a pull of his cigarette, looking confused as he waited for Junior to elaborate.  
  
"When I first came to LA, I wanted to be an actor. I went on plenty of auditions and at one of them, I met this guy... another aspiring French actor."  
  
Jackson put down his cigarette slowly, dread entering his eyes like he knew what Junior was going to say.  
  
Junior plowed on; it was too late to stop. "We had a kind of... whirlwind romance. He was a rich boy and his parents had bought him a super swanky apartment in Manhattan, so he invited me to go and live with him and go for castings in New York and I agreed." He paused and swallowed, not daring to look at the darkness of Jackson's eyes stark against his paling face. "It didn't last long, though. We broke up after a month and I came back here."  
  
Jackson wet his lips in the silence that fell, as if thinking of how to answer this. "Are you telling me... you dated some French guy?" he said eventually, in a neutral voice so Junior couldn't tell his feelings about it.  
  
He nodded embarrassedly, his nervousness making him start to babble. "Well, I mean, I'm not proud of it, but..."  
  
"Junior," Jackson said, his voice sounding sharp to Junior's ears. "Are you gay?"  
  
  
x  
  
  
Since they had started "dating", JB had allowed himself a few more benefits, a few more indulgences in his guilty pleasures when it came to Mark, and one of them was sleeping over at Mark's apartment.  
  
He didn't do it to the extent of everyday, and when he did they had to both be cautious not to overstep the boundaries and give in to their urges, or breach the invisible lines that had been drawn. They would stay in separate rooms and both lock their doors so neither of them could creep in half-awake in the middle of the night and do something they would regret in the light of morning. But sometimes, not out of any carnal or lustful urges, he just wanted to stay under the same roof as Mark, to provide him companionship and the simple warmth of another human presence.  
  
Mark also seemed to be satisfied with the way they were slowly and gradually drifting closer, without any rush, not hurrying into anything but undertaking all their first times together with fumbling sweetness. They would spend entire nights before retiring to bed like an old married couple, Mark reclining on the loveseat flipping through a cooking magazine in French (JB had always found it incredibly sexy that he could read and speak French, even before they got togehter) while JB watched a rerun of an old movie at low volume on the television. Nights like that felt domestic, intimate and peaceful, everything he had ever dreamed of in a relationship.  
  
  
  
One night, as he stepped out of the bathroom, fully dressed in comfy sweats (he made sure never to walk around in a towel like he did sometimes in the dorm) and toweling his hair dry, he saw Mark sitting on the loveseat as usual but something in the tenseness of his expression and posture was out of the ordinary.  
  
He looked up at JB, his eyes darkening, and at first JB thought it was because of his damp freshly-scrubbed hair and face, which seemed to make Mark struggle to get his emotions under control sometimes. But today Mark tore his eyes away quickly, as if angry at himself for checking JB out, and asked him to sit down.  
  
JB sat down and dropped his hand from the towel, letting it rest around his neck as he looked at Mark questioningly.  
  
"Do you have something you want to tell me?" Mark said enigmatically, and JB was confused by his cryptic question and eyes pinning his.  
  
"No...?" he replied, and Mark's face darkened. JB felt his own stomach flip, wondering if he had done something wrong accidentally.  
  
"What's wrong?" he asked gently.  
  
Mark met his gaze evenly. "Nothing," he said calmly. "It's just that your phone rang while you were in the shower, and I answered it for you because I thought it might be important. It was the manager of the bakery that has been headhunting you to join them for the past two months."  
  
He emphasized the last two words, and JB winced. He hadn't wanted Mark to find out about this, and definitely not this way.  
  
"Mark..." he started helplessly. "I didn't tell you because it wasn't important and you've been so busy with the bakery's issues recently, I didn't want you to worry."  
  
"I think I have the right to worry if my boyf-- sous pastry chef is going to leave me," Mark said fiercely, and it was only then that JB noticed his hands were shaking, teeth sunk into his lower lip like he was on the verge of tears. He was shocked at how upset Mark obviously was by the call.  
  
"I'm sorry," he quickly amended desperately. "What I meant was that you don't have to worry, because I said no to them, as I have to everyone who has ever asked and will to everyone who does in future. I told them that I would never leave y-- the bakery."  
  
"This has happened before?" Mark's voice rose to a shrill pitch. JB winced at how he had inadvertently put his foot into his mouth.  
  
"A few times," he admitted reluctantly. "But you have nothing to worry about, because I will never leave you."  
  
"Ever," he added emphatically when Mark didn't reply.  
  
  
  
At times like this, when Mark looked so uncertain, so unconfident of himself and his ability to keep JB, JB wished he were more adept with words, able to convince Mark that he was telling the truth by putting into language the way just like how he had become Mark's right hand, Mark had become his left hand. Theirs were jobs that had high turnover rates, and over the years they had seen so many people come and go, but the only thing that had stayed constant was Mark's presence beside JB, a silent unwavering pillar of support. And all JB had ever wanted was to be the same thing for Mark.  
  
"JB," Mark said softly, bringing him back to reality. Mark was looking so vulnerable, the harsh tired shadows beneath his eyes softened by the lamplight in the living room. His eyes were so dark and deep that JB only had to look into them before he felt himself already falling. He reached out shakily and took Mark's hands which were enfolded in his lap. He stroked his thumbs over Mark's knuckles reassuringly, till he heard a soft sigh escape Mark's lips.  
  
"Yes, darling?" JB said, watching the way Mark's eyes widened in surprise at the English endearment, then his cheeks blushed coyly with unfiltered pleasure as he looked down, hiding his eyes with his lashes. He felt himself blushing hotly too, unsure what had possessed him but he continued holding Mark's hands.  
  
Mark took a moment to compose himself, before looking up through his lashes at JB. His eyes were shy but intense at the same time, commanding but pleading. "Stay by my side."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so... i think by now this fic deserves a genre of its own, instead of slowburn... SNAILBURN is more appropriate. i am in agONY and i give all my tears to whoever is still in this hell with me. this chapter is dedicated with love to taegism, saturned and nionte :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is mature. (warning: use of blindfold)

Coming out to Jackson was the most nerve-wracking experience of Junior's life, even more so than the day he had tearfully blurted the truth out to his shocked mother, sitting at the kitchen table with the after-school snack she had prepared for him untouched, seventeen and shaking.  
  
He hadn't been surprised when Jackson sensitively intuited and latched on to the main point of his confidance -- less that he had dated a French actor, but that he liked boys. Jackson could act boorish and insensitive a lot of the time but Junior knew by now that behind that front, he was startlingly sensitive both about himself and towards others.  
  
It wasn't that he had ever entertained any worries about Jackson being homophobic. Even though it was obvious he didn't swing that way, by then Junior had gotten to know him well enough to be confident he would be open-minded to different orientations. Though there was equally no doubt in his mind that Jackson was straight as an arrow. He had seen him checking out and flirting with enough female customers to know this, and intuited that he most likely wasn't bisexual either from the numerous outrageously good-looking male customers he had interacted with without batting an eyelash, not seeming to notice even when they looked like Calvin Klein or Abercrombie and Fitch models.  
  
But now, he wondered if he had been overconfident as the oppressive silence after he had affirmed Jackson's query with a stiff nod stretched on awkwardly. Jackson's eyes looked shell-shocked as he brought the almost-finished cigarette up to his lips and took a shaky drag. He didn't look at Junior.  
  
Junior felt his heart beating in his throat, stomach churning with the beginning of regret. Had he just made another impulsive wrong decision?  
  
His chaotic train of thought was interrupted by Jackson saying quietly, "Oh." His heart pounded shallowly as Jackson finally looked at him again, with unreadable eyes. He dimly realised that it had only been less than a minute, but his panicked mind had magnified the seconds to interminably longer minutes. He felt a ridiculous amount of relief flood him to see no trace of disgust in Jackson's eyes, even though they didn't look too thrilled by his revelation either.  
  
"Okay," Jackson said, taking a vicious drag on his cigarette before dropping the butt on the ground and grinding his foot slowly over it. Junior stared at the whorl of hair on the crown of his head and felt a pang. "Cool," Jackson continued in the same nonchalant, impassive voice. He turned away after he had stamped out all the embers. "I've got to get back to work."  
  
"Jackson," Junior heard himself blurting out in a whiny, overly desperate voice, making Jackson stop in his tracks. "You said you wouldn't judge me." He hated the neediness thick in his voice.  
  
When Jackson turned back, the softness of his eyes startled Junior. They had changed completely from a minute ago, filling with the same reassuring warmth he knew, and he felt his entire body sag with relief. "I'm not judging you." Jackson's voice was gentle, filled with sympathy. "I'm just surprised. You just dropped a pretty big bombshell on me, you know." Junior's heart leaped at the faintest teasing note reentering his voice.  
  
"I really have to get back to work," Jackson went on in the same soothing voice when he couldn't find his voice. "But we can talk more later on the way back, if you want. Thanks for trusting me." And with a smile at Junior and an awkward pat on his shoulder, he pushed the door open and disappeared into the kitchen.  
  
Junior's legs couldn't hold him up any longer as he slumped against the wall of the alley, entire body weak with gratitude for Jackson's acceptance.  
  
He had known before that he hadn't had a fighting chance of Jackson being romantically interested in him, but subconsciously, he realised he had been testing the waters in some way by making this calculated revelation. And from Jackson's reaction, though it had been touchingly positive, Junior could tell that he hadn't guessed Junior's sexuality, and was thus much less likely to have had any unplatonic feelings for him. Though he hadn't shown any disdain, it would be a long shot to call his reaction excited or happy. The disappointment was bitter in a way that had burned slightly for the past few months, steady but not as intense as the first time.  
  
Checking the time on his phone, he realised with alarm that he had been out here for almost fifteen minutes. Mark and JB hadn't called him to come back in but he knew they were shorthanded in the kitchen. So he quickly took a deep breath, ran a hand through his hair, and schooled his face with an effort into a breezy, unconcerned expression. Then he pushed open the door and stepped back into the kitchen.  
  
  
  
A few days passed. Nothing seemed to have changed between them outwardly, but Junior wondered if it was just his paranoia and sensitivity playing tricks on him when he got the feeling that Jackson was acting more distant, aloof and standoffish. He answered Junior politely when he asked questions, talked to him when necessary and smiled at him occasionally, but he couldn't shake the feeling that Jackson's heart wasn't in it, that his revelation had changed something slight and subtle between them. There was a tension that wasn't there before, a wall.  
  
His palms sweated uncontrollably, slick when he rubbed them on his apron as his mind raced wildly, unable to tamp down on the fear that Jackson saw him differently now, that he had somehow changed in his eyes. He knew from experience that it couldn't be helped, that it was naive to expect to blindside a friend with information of such magnitude and expect nothing to change. No matter how accepting he was, Jackson was still human and Junior had known there would be fallout and consequences from blurting out the truth but he had wanted to anyway.  
  
Still, considering all things, his reaction was still one of the most unjudgmental he had ever received and Junior was inexpressibly thankful for that. As they had walked back to the dormitory the other night, lagging behind the others as usual, Jackson hadn't taken his hand like he sometimes did for fun, but he had lightened Junior's mood with his trademark unfunny jokes and chattered on like nothing had happened earlier that afternoon. He knew that Jackson was going out of his way to make him feel at ease, knowing that he felt uncertain and worried after his confession.  
  
But still, ultimately, Junior didn't regret being honest with Jackson. For some reason it was important to him that Jackson knew one of the most crucial things about his identity, maybe because Junior had come to think of him as his best friend and he felt uncomfortable having any big secrets from him. He could only hope that he hadn't imposed a burden on Jackson or made him feel uncomfortable with his selfish confidance.  
  
  
  
It was a rainy afternoon at work a few weeks after that day. The umbrella stand beside the glass doors was filling up quickly with damp umbrellas of various colours as customers ducked in from the downpour, looking wet and frazzled and bringing the scent of rain. He loved that unique, clean smell of earth and dew mingled with the fragrance of coffee and reminding him of romantic days spent lazily writing bad self-indulgent poetry while sipping coffee, the rim of his mug leaving a circular brown stain on his notebook page.  
  
He shivered unconsciously as the door opened to a particularly drafty gust of wind which ruffled his hair, while he was standing beside the bar waiting for an order. He heard his name being spoken in a soft voice, and when he looked up Jackson was beckoning him inside for a second. His breath hitched and he only thought for a heartbeat before gamely pushing open the little swinging door with his foot and slipping into the bar. No one else paid them any attention as they bustled by occupied with their own tasks, and in the midst of all the customers and other staff with the constant background of the falling rain, Jackson poured him a fresh, steaming hot cup of rich dark chocolate.  
  
Junior thought he wanted him to drink the whole cup, but after he had taken a sip Jackson casually picked it up and took the next one, and like that, they alternated taking small decadent sips till the chocolate was all finished. There was the slightest residue of foam left on Jackson's lips and Junior wanted to lean forward and lick it off easily but instead he plucked out a clean piece of tissue from a box and hesitantly reached out. Jackson smiled and let him clean his mouth without protest, and after that helped Junior dab at his with another tissue. It was how he knew that everything was back to normal between them -- Jackson noticing every little thing about him, sharing drinks in what could be interpreted as an indirect kiss and smiling at him with that mischievous gleam back in his eyes. Junior smiled weakly back at him, but all he could think was _Shit, I am more in love with you than ever_. Falling in love with Jackson on a rainy day -- could he be even more of the biggest fucking cliche in the book? Junior groaned, but only felt himself fall helplessly further.  
  
  
  
At some point of time, he started noticing Jackson spending an inordinate amount of time with Bambam. True, they had always been close, but now he was actually spending entire afternoons and nights camped out in Bambam and Youngjae's room with the door shut. Youngjae was around when he didn't have to work, but most of the time he wasn't. He knew he had no claim over Jackson, but this bothered him on a totally different level than Jackson treating Bambam to meat, which he had pretended to be mad about just to throw a petty tantrum.  
  
When he casually asked Jackson what they were doing together, a smirk grew on his face as he studied Junior, eyes shrewd.  
  
"Why? Are you jealous?" he drawled lightly, a teasing note in his voice.  
  
"N-no! Of course not! What are you talking about?" Junior flapped his hands and squawked, overprotesting with nervous laughter.  
  
Jackson laughed without conviction. "Okay," he said placidly, reaching out to ruffle Junior's hair carelessly. "Now you know how I feel when you and JB do that," he added unexpectedly.  
  
Junior's mouth fell open, but no words came out because Jackson kind of had a point. Though JB and him didn't close the door, it was a pretty similar situation and he had never really given a thought to how Jackson must have felt. But -- he wasn't in love with Junior. That made all the difference.  
  
He could hardly say this out though, so he just swallowed and sidled away forlornly.  
  
He found his feet leading him to JB's room, where he seemed to be tidying and moving some of his things around. He sat down on the edge of JB's bed and he turned, raising a questioning eyebrow. "What's up?"  
  
When he saw Junior's face, he immediately put the CD he was holding down. He moved to the door and closed it, then walked towards the bed and sat down beside him. "Talk to me," he said gently, tilting his head with a small open smile.  
  
There was a stilted silence for about a few seconds as JB waited. Then --  
  
"I like Jackson," Junior shocked himself by blurting out with painful honesty. The three taboo, illicit words he had been thinking of for almost every second of the past few months, but never allowed himself to say out loud, rang out deafening in the hushed silence of the room and hung between them, unable to be retracted.  
  
JB was staring at him, mouth slightly open, but seeming to be more taken aback at the fact that Junior had answered him so frankly than what he had said. Junior's face burned and he lowered his eyes to his lap. But deep down inside, he was grateful that JB didn't bat an eyelash at his homosexuality.  
  
"I know," JB said softly after a moment, and his head snapped back up.  
  
"How? You can tell?"  
  
JB chuckled, nodding once. "I'm not blind or that dense, despite how I appear," he countered ironically, and Junior flinched. "But don't worry," he quickly added, sensing Junior's panic. "I don't think he knows."  
  
Junior gaped at him, and JB shook his head with sarcasm. "He can be very obtuse sometimes."  
  
"Thank God," Junior breathed, and elaborated when JB looked at him, "I mean, I don't want him to know. Ever."  
  
JB's smile turned sad. "But isn't that painful for you?"  
  
Junior pressed his lips together and didn't answer, avoiding JB's pity-filled eyes.  
  
"Listen, you know about me and Mark --"  
  
"That's different!" Junior couldn't help bursting out. "It was obvious to everybody that Mark cares for you! You have no idea what it's like to be in one-sided --"  
  
"Jackson cares for you too," JB interrupted gently. "He's a dick to everyone else except you." He chuckled at his own joke, and Junior blushed.  
  
"He's just taking care of me as a friend, as a dongsaeng, because I'm new." He hated how pained his whisper sounded, the soreness of his voice. But he didn't have the chance to finish his statement because at this moment the door abruptly swung open to reveal Jackson standing in the doorway, breathing hard.  
  
His eyes narrowed as they darted suspiciously between both of them. "What were the two of you doing?"  
  
Junior instinctively panicked -- how long had he been standing there? Had he overheard anything? He realised he looked suspiciously guilty as Jackson's eyes pinned his accusingly, but he couldn't meet them straight on. Beside him, JB sighed long-sufferingly and Jackson focused on him, glowering. "The next time you lure him into your room again, you fucking pervert, I swear to god --"  
  
Junior sputtered at the same time as JB leaned back with his palms on the bedspread, looking amused. "He walked in himself," he said lazily, and the daggers in Jackson's eyes sharpened menacingly as he took big strides forward till he was in front of them, then grabbed Junior's hand without ceremony, hauling him to his feet.  
  
"I warned you," he intoned, looking down at JB with stony warning while clutching Junior's hand in a tight grip. Junior didn't know if he was pretending to be angry as he sometimes did for fun, but he looked alarmingly serious.  
  
His arm was tugged painfully as Jackson dragged him off the bed and out of the room so quickly he didn't have time to turn back. He only managed to hear JB calling with audible amusement, "I don't think you have anything to worry about, Jinyoung-ah!" before he was out of earshot and Jackson had slammed him with more force than necessary against the wall beside his door, making his back hit it. His face looked flushed, mouth turned down with displeasure at JB's affectionate address.  
  
"What were you talking about?" he demanded. "Why was the door closed?"  
  
Junior shrugged, affecting carelessness. "Nothing special," he lied, trying not to blush.  
  
Jackson's hand tightened painfully around his, looking frustrated by his evasion but too proud to plead for an answer.  
  
"He'll break your heart," he said roughly, and for a moment Junior's heart stopped, thinking he was talking about himself. Then it resumed beating unsteadily as Jackson continued, "He likes Mark, not you."  
  
"I know!" Junior defensively shot back, and Jackson looked up swiftly, pain flashing across his eyes for some reason. "But still...?" he murmured.  
  
"What are you talking about?" Junior exclaimed, shaking off Jackson's vice-like grip. "You mean -- Oh my god, I don't like him!" Seriously, he couldn't believe how this was the third person including JB and Mark who had misunderstood him. Did he really act like he liked JB? He felt slightly offended that Jackson seemed to assume he had feelings for JB, just because he was a guy. He was gay, but that didn't mean he was attracted to every single guy.  
  
"Right," Jackson snorted disbelievingly, and turned away.  
  
"It's true!" Junior whined, close to frustrated tears at being misunderstood by Jackson of all people. "I like someone else --" The words were out of his mouth before he could hold them back, and he stopped, choking back the rest of his sentence as Jackson spun around, eyes wide and stricken.  
  
"You like someone else?" he repeated in a hoarse whisper.  
  
Junior felt himself hyperventilating.  
  
"Who? Is it someone I know?" Jackson pressed urgently, taking a step forward. Junior backed up against the wall.  
  
"I... I can't tell you!" he eventually half-shrieked and half-whimpered, hand thankfully finding the doorknob behind his back and pushing his door open. He practically fell headfirst into his room and slammed it close with unnecessary loudness. He winced and closed his eyes, but the last image of Jackson's face was already burned behind his eyelids -- wounded, confused... devastated.  
  
  
  
He didn't meet with JB alone in either of their rooms again, as Jackson had started watching them like a hawk, acting ludicrously like he owned Junior and he figured it was more trouble than it was worth. But even Jackson couldn't find any fault with them meeting up as a group with Sungjoo and Wenhan in the courtyard, gathering around a stone table.  
  
To the other people who saw them, it probably looked like they were just having a conversation, but Junior didn't tell Jackson that he had started unofficially taking Chinese lessons from the two boys, which had started when he jokingly mentioned that he wanted to learn to speak the language and Wenhan said warmly, "Why not? We can teach you." Now, true to their word, he and Sungjoo had started giving Junior and JB one-on-one tutoring sessions on a regular basis. Junior had been surprised when JB took the initiative to approach them on the first day when he spotted them across the courtyard and sat down, expressing his desire to learn simple conversational Mandarin too.  
  
Chinese wasn't an easy language, but thankfully it had a lot of similar-sounding phrases to Korean. On one of his trips to the bookstore downtown, he purchased an elementary school level textbook and beginner's dictionary for him and JB to share. JB punched his shoulder in thanks when he took it out on the next lesson. He also checked a few Mandarin picture books out at the local library and asked an obliging Wenhan to teach him how to read them.  
  
Jackson still seemed unhappy that Junior was spending time with other guys besides him, but his ego seemed to be keeping him from saying anything verbally. Junior tried not to think of the reason he was throwing himself so passionately into learning Mandarin, telling himself that it was normal because he had always been enthusiastic about learning languages in general. Jackson wasn't the only Chinese among the staff, and Junior definitely wasn't learning the language because he wanted to communicate with him.  
  
  
  
He was on the rooftop, taking the dry laundry off the clothesline and hanging up the load of clothes he had just washed, one pleasant Saturday morning, when Jackson trudged up the stairs and through the door, clothed in one of the thick oversized hoodies he usually wore nowadays as the weather turned colder. The cuffs of the sleeves were so long they covered his knuckles as he stifled a sleepy yawn with a fist. He walked towards Junior, blinking disorientedly, and proceeded to lie back down on the old narrow wooden bench that was propped on the ground adjacent to the clotheslines. When the huge white rectangle of his sheet billowed in a gust of wind, it lifted like a curtain and Junior could see Jackson with his eyes closed, hands folded neatly on his stomach and knees pointed to the sky, reclining serenely on the bench. His posture looked so odd and unnatural that Junior muffled a laugh.  
  
He moved the sheet a little to block the sun from shining directly on Jackson's face, and finished hanging up the rest of the laundry at a languid pace. When he was done, instead of leaving, he felt his feet leading him towards the bench as if by a gravitational pull. Jackson didn't seem to hear or sense his approach, his eyes remaining tranquilly shut and his expression looking sound asleep. He looked boyishly younger in slumber.  
  
But when Junior took one of his shirts out and tucked it gently over Jackson's shoulders, trying not to wake him, he gasped as he turned to go and Jackson's hand shot out to close over his wrist.  
  
When he turned back again and looked down, Jackson was smiling up at him, eyes warm and soft with something like adoration. Junior's lungs constricted as Jackson fingered his shirt. "Can I keep this?" he asked beseechingly.  
  
"S-sure!" was all he could stammer out before he slipped out of Jackson's grip, picked up his laundry basket and ran for the stairs, the shadows of Jackson's fingerprints still branding an invisible bracelet onto his hand.  
  
  
  
"Hyung, stop being mean to me already because of Jackson-hyung!" Bambam burst out in exasperation, seeming at the end of his tether one night when they were the last two left at the table, finishing up their staff meal and Junior had told Bambam snobbily to clear everything up himself after spending the whole night flinging mercilessly sarcastic jabs at him.  
  
He gulped, feeling a little guilty as he took in Bambam's innocent face crumpled in a mournful expression. He hadn't realised that his shade had been so obvious.  
  
He sat back down again. "Fine," he huffed. "Then tell me what you guys always do in your room with the door closed."  
  
Bambam's face fell, looking torn. "I can't," he whispered in anguish. "He told me not to."  
  
The screech of a chair being pulled out interrupted them as Youngjae sat down beside Bambam, immediately saying without hesitation, "Bam is teaching him Korean."  
  
"Youngjae-hyung!" Bambam whimpered in shock. "Jackson-hyung is going to kill you!"  
  
Youngjae smiled and stroked a reassuring hand over his hair. "Shush. It doesn't matter. I'm not afraid of him as long as my baby Bambam doesn't get misunderstood anymore." He shot a hard look at Junior on the word, one of the first rare occasions Junior had seen Youngjae look anything but cuddly.  
  
He swallowed hard, mind still reeling from the revelation. "Sorry, Bambam-ah," he muttered contritely, and Bambam sniffed, replying with reluctant graciousness, "I forgive you, hyung."  
  
Junior cleared up all the empty platters of the meal on autopilot, including Bambam's. Then he mumbled something that they didn't seem to understand as he drifted hollowly towards the kitchen to dump them.  
  
So all this while, Jackson had been learning Korean, just like he had been learning Chinese, both unaware of the other's actions but unconsciously doing the same things? Why would Jackson want to learn Korean? Well, presumably he could be doing it because he wanted to communicate with Youngjae, Yugyeom, JB or the other Korean staff -- but then Junior remembered something Jackson had said to him, months ago now. _I hate it when you exclude me. Do you like JB better because he's Korean?_  
  
His heart beat faster, racing ahead despite himself, despite him trying to restrain it from hoping. Jackson wouldn't put that much effort into learning Korean, just for him. He was way too lazy and self-absorbed to. But then... why had he told Bambam specifically to keep it a secret from Junior then?  
  
  
  
His doubts were cleared up a little a few weeks later, when his phone vibrated just as he was falling asleep one night. It was a new message from Jackson and he frowned as he clicked it open, wondering why he would waste money sending one when Junior was just a few doors away.  
  
His heart flipped when he saw the contents of the message -- just three syllables in Hangul, his name: _Jinyoungie_. It sounded so affectionate that he blushed violently just looking at the screen of his phone.  
  
He sat up in bed, wide awake. His fingers trembled, phone slippery in his sweaty grip. Had Jackson's Korean progressed so much he could now type in Hangul? And was Junior's name one of the first phrases he had learnt?  
  
He wanted to pound out all these questions into his reply. But he stopped himelf in time, realising wisely that that it would be overreacting and coming across as too clingy and intense to send an essay in reply to such a brief, simple message. The last thing he wanted was Jackson to think he was overly excited about this. Even if he was.  
  
So instead, uncertain if Jackson would be able to read if he replied in Korean and not wanting to confuse him or make him feel stupid, he merely replied in English with the calm, chill acronym: _WTF?_  
  
He pressed his phone against his chest and when it vibrated with an answer a minute later he felt it jump in unison with his heart. Jackson had replied with just one letter: _k_.  
  
Junior stared at the text, doubly confused. What did he mean?  
  
Five minutes spent tossing and turning sleeplessly later, he found his feet leading him down the darkened corridor towards Jackson's door. He had no idea what he was doing or how he was so bold as he knocked lightly, then heard faint footsteps inside.  
  
Jackson was wearing his black wifebeater again, and boxers. Junior's throat went dry as he desperately tried to keep his eyes from straying down to his scantily-clothed body.  
  
"What?" Jackson said, looking confused. His face seemed a little pink but Junior couldn't really tell in the low light. His hair was adorably tousled from the pillow, flattened on one side and Junior resisted the strong urge to reach out and run his hands through it.  
  
Unsuccessfully.  
  
"Whoa -- what?" Jackson seemed to be caught off guard as he let Junior stroke his hair into submission for a minute, before leaping back as if scalded. Now, he was definitely blushing. He flattened his own hand over his hair self-consciously, eyes looking wider than a minute before. He was gazing sharply into Junior's, searching his eyes as if trying to decipher something and Junior quickly locked his hands behind his back and babbled the first thing that came to his mind to distract them both from the awkward and unexplainable action.  
  
"What did you mean by _k_?" His voice sounded overly shrill.  
  
Jackson looked baffled for a moment, before his face cleared up and a devilish glint entered his eyes, making them sparkle. "Oh," he said breezily. "I was replying to your text. WTF means Want To Fuck, right?"  
  
"WHAT?!" Junior screeched, thunderstruck. "NO!!!"  
  
He knew Jackson was just winding him up, pushing his buttons on purpose. There was no way he didn't know what WTF meant. But still, he couldn't help reacting just as predictably as Jackson expected.  
  
Jackson was laughing, looking smug that he had turned the tables in one second and now Junior was the one blushing like his face was on fire.  
  
"... I hate you," he came up with lamely after a minute of glowering speechlessly at him, then turned to flee back to his room before further damage could be done. It had been a bad idea to knock on Jackson's door in the middle of the night in the first place.  
  
"Good night, Jinyoungie!" Jackson called after him cheerfully as he slumped back to his room, and Junior hated the way chills ran down his spine at his name in Jackson's low, caressing voice.  
  
  
x  
  
  
"JB," he heard his name being called by a familiar voice as he was heading with the rest to the back of the kitchen after closing and the staff meal to get their bags, and his heart leaped before he turned around questioningly to see Mark sitting at the corner table, closing the accounts book and taking off his spectacles. He massaged the ridges they left behind on the bridge of his nose and smiled tiredly at JB. "Can you work overtime tonight? I need some help."  
  
"Sure!" JB exclaimed, trying not to sound too excited. Mark smiled at the uncontrollable grin wreathing his face. Incidentally, JB had been trying to pluck up the courage to ask Mark the whole of that day whether he could sleep over at his house tonight. Mark always smiled sweetly and said yes, looking pleased when he asked, but it was still daunting. For once, JB couldn't help feeling delighted that Mark had taken the initiative and made the first move.  
  
After everyone had left rowdily and the bakery finally descended into peaceful silence, Mark told him to wait outside in the dark cafe area and get some rest as he had to make some preparations in the kitchen before JB came in. He agreed and sat down, placing his bag on the seat beside him.  
  
After ten minutes of daydreaming, he heard Mark's voice calling him from inside the kitchen and quickly got up, heading towards the slice of white fluorescent light slanting out of the kitchen door.  
  
When he walked in, the first thing he saw was the flour on the floor. It was sprinkled all over a large area and it took him a while to realise that it was actually scattered in a trail, leading up ahead towards the counter at the very back of the kitchen. He could see Mark's back, already changed out of his apron, his shoulder blades looking narrow but broad at the same time in his threadbare tie-dyed t-shirt over faded distressed jeans.  
  
Heart starting to beat a little faster for some reason, he carefully followed the line of flour snaking forward with intrigue. When he reached where it stopped right behind Mark, Mark turned at his footsteps, a smile on his face which was deliciously flushed like a rosy apple. He said nothing but quietly stepped aside to reveal a strawberry shortcake on the counter that JB hadn't even seen him working on today. It was an item on their menu but this one was slightly customised with a personalised message on top.  
  
His chest tightened as he saw his name in large, blocky and awkward Hangul characters, followed by three Korean characters. _Im Jaebum, I love you_.  
  
His jaw dropped, mouth falling open. From the side, Mark was watching his reaction closely, his face bright red by now and his smile tremulous, looking scared out of his wits. JB quickly gathered his senses the moment he realised how nerve-wracking this must be for Mark.  
  
"Mark..." he started, sounding choked up. "I..."  
  
He squeezed his eyes shut, unable to meet the intensity of Mark's dark flashing eyes straight on.  
  
"I love you too."  
  
When he opened his eyes, Mark was suddenly two steps closer, very much in his personal space as he slid his arms around JB's hips, clasping them behind his back. JB stiffened, expecting him to lean in for a kiss (Did his breath smell bad? When was the last time he had brushed his teeth?) but he only placed his head gently on JB's shoulder and relaxed his body against JB's until JB tentatively brought his own trembling arms up behind Mark's shoulders and wrapped them around him, squeezing tightly.  
  
Mark's body felt more muscular than it looked in his arms, hot like a live wire. He muffled a gasp as Mark moved his head so his mouth brushed against the shell of JB's ear. But he only murmured, breath hot against JB's skin, "Don't you want to taste your cake?"  
  
"O-of course!" JB quickly loosened his grip on Mark, but Mark's hands lingered more reluctantly on his sides, sliding down his hipbones as his thumbs lazily slid beneath JB's shirt and traced small circles on his hipbones. His lips quirked at JB's reaction.  
  
Mark finally dropped his hands after almost five minutes of JB's discomfort, and thankfully turned his attention to the cake as JB tried to take subtle deep breaths to calm himself down. His body still felt feverish, spiralling out of control, urges battling their way to the surface even as he tried to wrestle them down. In his jeans, his cock chafed against the denim as he shifted and he prayed fervently Mark wouldn't notice he was half-hard and more than a little worked up.  
  
"Oh, I forgot to prepare a knife," Mark's mild exclamation drew his attention. JB moved closer to the counter in concern, then stared. Was Mark... pouting? He decided he had seen wrongly as Mark's prettily pursed lips quickly morphed into his trademark angelic smile. He beckoned JB to come closer with a crook of his finger.  
  
"I can go get one --" JB offered, but Mark waved his offer away dismissively. "It's okay, I don't want to cause extra washing. We can just eat it with our fingers."  
  
"With our fingers?" JB gulped, and Mark smiled in assent. "Like this." He dipped his index finger into the seashells of cream at the top of the cake, then slowly raised it to his mouth and wrapped his lips around it. He made a wet, slurping noise that made JB's cock jump in his pants.  
  
Mark slipped his finger out of his mouth with a soft pop and fluttered his eyelashes, a faint smile on his lips. "Do you want me to feed you?" He took a step towards JB, and JB stumbled back.  
  
"No, I'm good!" he replied louder than necessary. "I can feed myself."  
  
This time, Mark was definitely pouting, but it was the hurt in his eyes that made JB's stomach drop. "Okay," he said softly, and turned away, back towards JB. JB felt something tearing apart physically inside him.  
  
Where was the romantic, charming him who had boldly called Mark _darling_? JB kicked himself inwardly, took a deep breath and a step forward towards Mark, sliding his hands over his shoulders and encircling his chest. He felt Mark's body tense up with an inhalation, then relax into his arms as Mark leaned back against his chest, reclining decadently against JB.  
  
"I'll feed you instead," JB whispered in his ear, his voice silky in a way he didn't recognise. Mark's sharp and pleasured intake of breath confirmed that he didn't sound like himself, and JB felt daring and sexy as he ungracefully scooped out a chunk of cake from the side with his hand and brought it up to Mark's lips.  
  
Mark leaned forward agreeably like a pet puppy and obediently ate the cake from his hand, but as the amount lessened JB felt lightning flash through his veins as Mark's slick lips and tongue brushed against his fingers, more than once. He heard himself starting to make a shuddering, panting noise as Mark licked his fingers artlessly, grabbing his hand to hold it there so he couldn't pull away.  
  
He wrenched his hand out of Mark's grasp and hurriedly clenched his greasy palm into a fist at his side, detaching their lower bodies so he wouldn't grab Mark's hips bodily with both hands and grind his crotch against Mark's savagely.  
  
He couldn't see Mark's face but only hear the deafening sound of himself trying to get his ragged breathing under control in the hush. After a few awkward beats, Mark thankfully seemed to relent on his scheme to torture JB by sucking on both their fingers as he turned around with all the seductiveness gone from his face, only mischief in his eyes. Before JB knew it, he had swiped a dab of cream over JB's cheek.  
  
JB's eyes widened. Before Mark could run, he had grabbed him around the waist with one hand, holding him against his body as Mark squirmed and giggled hysterically, trying to avoid JB's fingers but he managed to dash a blob of cream on the tip of Mark's nose.  
  
"Let go of me, JB! I'm your boss!" Mark was shrieking in a way that JB had never heard before as he gasped with laughter. JB continued mercilessly trying to smear the top of the cake over Mark's face.  
  
"Okay, boss," he smirked and drawled, and let go of Mark without warning. Mark's limbs seemed to give out, rubbery and strengthless as he wobbled on his feet and JB hurriedly caught him in his arms again. He only realised that he had fallen for Mark's trap when Mark grabbed his face with strong hands and rubbed their noses and cheeks together in a poor eskimo kiss, rubbing the cream all over his face too.  
  
In the end, they ended up calling a truce, both trying to lick the cream from around their lips with their tongues and patting the rest off each other's faces with paper towels. Mark's hair was matted and slick like the fur of a wet dog and his face shone beneath the lights with the grease, but he still looked absurdly like he had walked off the set of a photoshoot.  
  
Their eyes both travelled simultaneously to the half-ruined cake on the table, and JB bit his lip in disappointment to see that the icing was almost all gone. "It's okay." Mark brushed his lips against his temple comfortingly. "We can finish the rest later," he said with a wicked wink, eyes moving down hungrily to JB's lip.  
  
JB shivered, but Mark didn't make any further moves, instead walking to the corner of the kitchen to drag the stool they used to climb up to retrieve equipment from higher shelves over to where JB was standing.  
  
"Sit down," he said. His smile broadened when JB asked in confusion, "What about you?"  
  
Mark looked impatient, promptly pushing JB down onto the stool and climbing into his lap. He shifted to find a comfortable position there, not seeming to notice how JB's entire body had frozen up at how Mark was literally sitting on his dick. His still half-hard dick.  
  
If Mark noticed that JB's dick was unnaturally rigid, he didn't say anything but instead squirmed more on JB's thighs, rubbing his ass against his by now painful erection. JB gritted back a curse and placed a hand on Mark's hip to keep him still, all the blood rushing to his groin.  
  
By now, JB was thinking that he wouldn't survive the night. He suspected that today's "overtime" was a night Mark had plotted specially to murder him slowly, then felt bad as Mark nuzzled back against him like a child, tucking his head in the crook between JB's chin and shoulder. Mark was so artless and pristine, JB felt like a monster maligning him with his warped fantasies.  
  
  
  
Thankfully, Mark didn't seem to want to initiate any more physical contact, instead allowing JB to circle his arms loosely around his waist to hold them both steady and upright as he balanced both their weights on the rickety stool. In his arms, Mark smelled deliciously of cloyingly sweet strawberries and the milky scent of cream, the tinge of sweat masked by a floral, fresh-smelling cologne even after a day of work.  
  
"Thank you for baking the cake for me," JB murmured into the nape of his neck, when really he meant _Thank you for being the first one to say I love you_. Again, Mark had blindsided and brought JB to his knees with his bravery, his courage and his generosity towards JB. Mark was generous towards everybody, but especially towards him he never calculated, never kept track of whose turn it was to be the stronger or the better one. And JB loved him for it. It had just never occurred to him to express it verbally to Mark, because he was more selfish.  
  
He felt Mark tremble a little with pleasure -- he hoped -- at the touch of JB's lips. "You're welcome, Jaebum-ah," he replied in his bedroom low voice, bringing JB's hand tenderly up to his lips and kissing his knuckles carelessly.  
  
JB started, caught by surprise. It was the first time Mark had ever used his Korean name, and so intimately. Mark turned his head slightly, looking up to hold his eyes. "Is it okay?" he asked, smiling quietly with hopeful eyes. "For me to call you that?"  
  
JB nodded, unable to speak. He blinked away the tears in his eyes. "I'd love it," he replied simply, and the happiness that lit Mark's face was brilliant.  
  
  
  
As always, when faced with awkwardness, they lapsed into unrelated and meandering conversation again. But that didn't mean it was meaningless, because JB felt that getting to know each other emotionally was just as important as physically. He loved hearing Mark telling him about himself and his life, couldn't get enough.  
  
"You know," he remarked after a while, "You really surprised me."  
  
"Surprised you?" Mark repeated, sounding curious. "How?"  
  
JB chuckled. "I don't know, I guess... I never expected you to be so... aggressive when we first met." He blushed for some reason at the word he had used, and felt Mark's face heat up against his own a little too.  
  
"Aggressive?" he repeated in wonder, and JB hurriedly backpedaled, trying to find a more suitable word, but he couldn't. It was weird to picture Mark as aggressive, and uncharacteristic to use this word to describe him. But he had undeniably acted in this way on more than one occasion towards JB.  
  
Mark also seemed to come to a similar realisation as he mused after a few moments, thoughtfully, "I've never thought of myself as such a person. Honestly, I think I'm more of the passive type. But... I guess I can be, sometimes. I guess you make me aggressive." The way his voice lowered on the last sentence made JB's blood rush south.  
  
"It's true," Mark continued, when JB couldn't reply. "I've never wanted anyone enough to fight for them, except you. You changed me."  
  
"Have you... never dated before?" JB finally found the courage to voice out the question he had been wondering, more and more as these two and a half years went by. He spent almost every hour of every day, except when he was sleeping, with Mark, but he had never heard Mark mention a girlfriend. Or a boyfriend. At this thought, as the possibility struck him, he found his arms tightening over Mark's waist. He was pretty sure Mark was straight, but sometimes the way Mark never seemed to display interest in anybody in a romantic way, even when they flirted with him, made him wonder.  
  
Mark's laugh jolted him back to reality. "Of course I have," he said matter-of-factly, as if it was obvious.  
  
"I had a girlfriend back in high school in Taiwan," he said, clearing JB's doubts, "But we broke up when I came here. And I've slept with a few girls in America. But... they were all just physical flings, a sexual outlet. No one ever managed to take my attention away from baking for long. I never got serious enough about any of them to risk my career... until I met a gorgeous Korean pastry chef called Im Jaebum."  
  
JB blushed at Mark's unexpected and cavalier romanticness. "There's something you may not know about me, JB," Mark said, pitching his voice to a playful bass. "I'm very competitive."  
  
"Competitive?" he repeated, and Mark nodded, a smile playing at his lips. "I hate losing." He met JB's eyes meaningfully, and JB broke off their intense stare-off first.  
  
"Me too," he managed to mumble, and was surprised by the glitter in Mark's eyes that told him it was the right answer.  
  
"My last relationship was more than two years ago, though," Mark continued offhandedly, and JB's breath caught in his throat. "Before I met you," Mark added, confirming his thoughts. Exhilaration raced through his pulse. "How about you?" Mark returned his question with interest, but he only seemed satisfied and unsurprised when JB muttered again, "Me too."  
  
"How did you go so long... without..." JB babbled without any idea of what he was saying, then flushed vigorously. Mark looked amused, apparently understanding his question clearly.  
  
"I told you before that I don't enjoy meaningless sex. Despite what you may think, I'm not an animal, Jaebum. I can control my urges." JB gulped uneasily, but to his relief Mark sounded mostly amused.  
  
"I... I didn't mean it that way!" he quickly clarified, face still hot, but Mark only hummed forgivingly. "What about you?" he asked, seemingly more interested in this topic. "How do you control _your_ urges?"  
  
When he didn't reply, Mark pressed on. "Do you pleasure yourself?"  
  
JB nearly choked at the question, unable to believe he had heard these words coming from Mark's lips. But Mark was gazing up at him intently, looking genuinely curious as he waited for JB's answer.  
  
"I..." he croaked, fumbling desperately for another topic to distract Mark. "I'm hungry! Let's finish the cake."  
  
A glint of amusement crept into Mark's eyes as he turned away slowly and let the matter rest. But he didn't ask any more questions, instead focusing back on the cake and beaming the full wattage of a toothy smile on JB. "Will you let me feed you now, _baobei_?"  
  
Caught off guard by the Mandarin endearment, which he had incidentally learnt from Sungjoo a few weeks ago, JB didn't have the presence of mind to refuse. Mark lifted a maraschino cherry off the top of the cake, licking the traces of cream off it as the glimpse of his tongue darting out made JB's dick stir. He proceeded to lower it slowly between JB's parted lips, keeping his eyes on JB as he closed his teeth over it and sucked the flesh off the pit. Mark licked his lips in tandem, eyes flicking down to JB's Adam's apple as he swallowed. The cherry tasted tangy and sweet at the same time, erotic.  
  
"You have cream here," Mark said, eyes gleaming as he placed his finger on the corner of his own lip, and this time JB swallowed the transparent ruse hook, line and sinker.  
  
"Clean it for me," he said huskily, enjoying the titillated surprise rounding Mark's eyes before he took on the challenge in JB's and leaned forward, placing a hand on his shoulder and the other cupping his ear as he pressed chaste lips to the corner of JB's mouth, then started trailing kisses towards the center of his lips. When Mark reached the bow of his lips, JB parted them without prompting and allowed Mark to lick into his mouth, palm moving to cradle the back of JB's head and the other splayed against his heart, seeming to hold his very heartbeat as he kissed JB senseless and boneless, till he was weak. Mark sucked JB's tongue into his mouth, scraping his teeth over his tongue and tasting less of nicotine this time and sweeter, like contentment.  
  
They broke apart for much-needed air after a few minutes, both breathing harshly. The creamy pale skin of Mark's face was deliciously splotched with red, and JB noticed that his long, dark eyelashes were trimmed with grains of flour or sugar, like powdered snow. There was a wide smudge of flour across his pink cheek and the contrast was both adorable and naughty at the same time. Mark didn't take his eyes off JB's as he grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it roughly over his shoulders, revealing impressively chiseled abs, defined pectoral muscles, alabaster skin drawn tautly over delicate collarbones. Topless, he looked breathtakingly exquisite.  
  
JB silently admired his athletic physique, thinking about how very masculine he had come to realise Mark was these two years, after his first initial wispy impression of him. His was a masculinity that did not have to be bragged about or flaunted, unlike Jackson's, and yet it asserted itself unignorably in many circumstances as the time went by. But never had JB ever felt it so viscerally as now, looking at the grid of Mark's abdominal muscles rippling underneath his skin, the smooth flexing of his thick biceps and the faint trail of down that led down towards his belt buckle.  
  
When JB reached out a trembling hand to follow it down, Mark inhaled sharply and looked down at where he was still sitting, grabbing his hand with a tight grip and stopping him from moving further. "Wait," he said, voice thick with carnal promise.  
  
It occurred to JB that just like in every other area, Mark probably demanded perfection from himself in bed too. The thought was weirdly and extremely hot.  
  
Mark undid the metal buckle of his belt with a clink, and unbuttoned the top button of his jeans. JB could see that his crotch was bulging decidedly more than normal too. Mark unzipped a few teeth of his jeans, before stopping. "Why aren't you undressing?" he frowned.  
  
JB blushed deeply. He hadn't known Mark was expecting him to, but he should have. But when he shyly and awkwardly grabbed the shoulders of his shirt to lift it up, Mark's hands stilled his arms as he stepped forward. JB gulped at the glimmer in his eyes.  
  
"Do you want me to undress you?" Mark asked, more softly.  
  
JB nodded shakily, letting his hands fall to his sides with relief. Mark smiled, tenderly and with genuine care in his eyes. "Just let me take care of you," he said, voice hypnotically soft. "Let me show you my heart."  
  
And with another silent nod from JB, Mark slowly lifted his shirt off his shoulders, revealing his bare stomach and torso, which Mark feasted eyes dark with admiration on for a few seconds before he let himself touch JB's body with reverence. "Jaebum..." he murmured, voice and hands lighting up JB's skin. "You're beautiful."  
  
After he had released JB's arms from his sleeves and tossed the shirt carelessly by the side, Mark told him gently to stand up. JB got to his feet on knocking knees and rubbery legs, leaning against the counter to steady himself with a hand on the bracingly cool steel tabletop.  
  
Mark looked concerned, and approached cautiously and reassuringly. JB wasn't wearing a belt, jeans slung low around his hips, and Mark allowed himself to indulgently run his hand teasingly down JB's happy trail for a few agonizing minutes as JB clenched his jaw and resisted the urge to snap his hips forward and fuck into Mark's hand.  
  
When he started whimpering softly, Mark hurriedly soothed his fretful noises with a dry kiss stamped on his temple, and unbuttoned JB's jeans with deft but a little more unsteady fingers, then started unzipping him. When Mark finished pulling the zipper down, he reached into JB's jeans and cupped his hand around the bulge of JB's cock, gripping it through the thin cotton of his boxers which were already damp with precum.  
  
"Fuck!" JB's entire body jerked, knocking back painfully into the steel counter and making a few trays on the upper shelf wobble precariously and slide against each other. There was a crash as one of the trays with a batch of muffins on it slid down onto the counter, overturning. Muffins spilled everywhere.  
  
Mark was breathing hard too. His fingers had loosened in surprise around JB's cock when he hit the counter but now they tightened deliberately again, rudely bringing back JB's attention from where it had wandered in alarm to the falling metal.  
  
"JB --" Mark rasped, his voice needy, and JB's dick hardened in response in his grip, but he protested weakly, voice sounding fucked hoarse, "The trays --"  
  
"Fuck the trays," Mark said, voice rough, his fingers tightening over JB's throbbing cock to the point of pain.  
  
"Jinyoung's muffins -- _Ah_!" JB let out a noise he had never emitted in his life before, a wanton moan, as Mark slid his fingers through the opening in front of his boxers and grabbed his bare cock with his hand. His panting intensified, humiliatingly loud as Mark worked his fingers skilfully over JB's length and pumped it up and down a few times. By now, he was so hard his cock was almost bursting.  
  
"Don't think of anyone else except me," Mark commanded, punctuating his order with a twist of his wrist and the pad of his thumb rubbing the slit of JB's cock in a way that made him let out an incoherent sob, reaching out to grip Mark's shoulders with both hands to hold himself steady.  
  
Mark continued running his fingers over the vein pulsing on the underside of his dick, which was leaking so much by now Mark's thumb was slippery with precum, his strokes growing slick.  
  
He climaxed rather anticlimactically, after a few more tugs and deft flicks of Mark's wrist on the upstroke, and felt embarrassed as his entire body convulsed and shuddered with the force of his orgasm, growing limp as he slumped against Mark. He had come messily, all over Mark's hand but Mark hadn't even pulled out, instead continuing to milk him through the aftershocks, stroking the last fevered moans out of JB as he thrust upwards into Mark's palm. When the last shiver rippled through him he felt his body sink into a satiated state of bliss, the lurid and lewd feeling of Mark's sticky hand sliding out of his boxers with a squelching noise after tucking him back in feeling excruciatingly mortifying and inexplicably hot at the same time.  
  
Maybe it was the way Mark was looking at him, gazing deeply into his eyes like JB was the hottest porn star in the world, standing before him in the flesh. The bulge of his crotch was much more substantial and undeniable now and JB wondered with a somersault of his heart whether Mark would want -- allow -- JB to help him relieve it the same way.  
  
But Mark only palmed at himself through the denim of his jeans, rubbing the heel of his palm against his dick. When JB tried to reach out to join his hand, he moved away, keeping JB at arm's length.  
  
"It's my turn now," he said, trying to keep his voice even as he breathed heavily. "I want to try something."  
  
"Try something?" JB repeated, confused. The sight of Mark dry humping his own hand through his jeans, rolling those hips that JB knew from personal experience were unbelievably flexible, was making his cock twitch in his pants again with an insatiable hunger.  
In answer, Mark quietly took out a piece of black fabric from his pocket. It looked like a bandanna.  
  
"It's a blindfold," he said softly.  
  
"You..." JB's breath caught in his throat. "This..."  
  
Something must have showed in his eyes, because Mark quickly said, "I'm not weird, I swear! I just came across this in a party supplies store and I bought it because... I thought it would be fun... to try it with you." He blushed vermillion.  
  
JB's brain short-circuited. Mark had wanted to do this with him for so long, been thinking about it, that he even bought and prepared the blindfold, waiting so patiently for this day and chance? It made his heart swell two sizes bigger. Also, after the initial shock, if he thought about it, he didn't really mind experimenting with a blindfold for a bit of harmless fun. It wasn't like it was a hardcore sex toy like handcuffs or whips or anything. Though, thinking of Mark with handcuffs... made heat start to pool at the pit of his stomach again.  
  
"Okay," he said simply, smiling reassuringly at Mark, and the delight which lit up Mark's face was worth it. He pushed JB gently back down on the chair again, then moved behind him to tie the blindfold around his eyes. In an instant, JB was plunged into pitch darkness. Mark secured the knot tightly but gently behind his head so he couldn't see anything at all.  
  
Immediately, his senses were heightened, sharpened by the deprivation of eyesight, as if by magic. He could hear and feel Mark's voice reverberating and echoing in his bones, almost a baritone, as he leaned down to whisper into JB's ear, "I'm going to feed you more cake."  
  
This time, he ate greedily from Mark's fingers, the airy, nearly weightless sponge of the cake tasting three times more delicious as it had with his eyes open. He had always believed that people could fall in love with Mark simply through eating his pastries and cakes. At least, he had.  
  
Mark fed him a candied strawberry, fingers brushing slickly against JB's lips. He daringly licked Mark's fingers as they moved away, feeling inordinately brave and gutsy with the barrier of the blindfold between their eyes, like he had changed into a different person. Mark seemed to sense the loss of his inhibitions too, and JB heard a quick intake of breath. He wondered desperately what kind of expression Mark was wearing now, wanted to see with a ravenous hunger just how affected Mark was by him.  
  
Maybe that was the point of the blindfold -- so that Mark could enjoy him in private, so to speak, without JB being able to enjoy him back. Thinking of this piqued something like anger in him, so he redoubled his efforts to make Mark let loose a noise, breaths or exhales or even soft, quickly swallowed back moans that would give JB an idea of how he felt. He shamelessly sucked on Mark's fingers and laved his tongue over his palm, making the same sounds Mark had made earlier as well as breathy moans in his best imitations of the girls in seedy AVs he had watched.  
  
But besides the occasional hitch of his breathing, Mark seemed to have gotten himself under control, resolutely keeping his silence and only breaking it to say in a maddeningly calm, benign voice, "Tsk... you're such a messy eater, Jaebum-ah." The affection in Mark's voice, crystalline even through the blindfold, the caress on his name, threw him completely off his bearings. He hadn't expected Mark to be able to derail his scheme with just one counterattack.  
  
But JB realised that Mark wasn't done yet as he suddenly felt with a jolt of alarm a sticky hand moving down to his chest and pressing flat against his rabbit-quick heart. "Shhh," Mark soothed him, and JB could hear a smug smile in his voice at how rapidly they could both feel his heart pounding. "It's my turn to eat," Mark whispered, and JB's mouth fell open in a silent sob of pleasure as Mark trailed his cream covered hand down JB's torso in a path from his clavicles over both his nipples and then tracing the lines of his abs and moving with intent down towards the hem of his boxers below which he could feel his cock straining impatiently against the damp fabric again.  
  
After Mark had spread cream all over his body, JB realised that his true test had arrived as Mark lowered his hot tongue onto JB's torso and started following the path he had mapped down again, this time licking all the cream clean. He lapped languidly at JB's nipples as JB fidgeted and shifted, by now making uncontrollable obscene-sounding noises that only seemed to feed Mark's intensity. When he couldn't control himself and tried to make a grab for Mark's hair, Mark swiftly grabbed both his wrists and pinned them in his lap, conveniently grazing his erection and making him buck up uselessly.  
  
"Mark, please --" JB breathed, and felt the curve of Mark's lips pause against his ribs.  
  
"I wish you could see yourself right now, Jaebum," Mark finally spoke up, his words slurred with want. "How good you look, begging for me."  
  
Finally, finally, Mark finished his cartographer's explorations and released JB's wrists. He felt Mark kneel down before him, tip of his tongue stopping right at the spot where skin ended and the hem of JB's boxers began. He was afraid to move, afraid to snap his hips up no matter how much he craved to, for fear of hurting Mark or pushing him away. Just the sensation of him ghosting hot breaths filled with wordless desire over JB's pelvis was enough to make him rock hard and one touch away from coming again.  
  
"I see you're ready to go again," Mark hummed, and JB could literally hear his smirk. He felt embarrassed, his body reacting in ways they had never done before, shamefully out of his control and at Mark's mercy.  
  
"Mark, please," he begged again the way he knew Mark liked now, with no shame. A sob caught in his throat. "Let me come."  
  
Mark favoured his dick with a fleeting caress that made him gasp, but it was over almost before it even started. "Not so fast," he replied softly, and JB felt a pang of bitter disappointment and building frustration as he sensed Mark standing up and walking away. He could just reach his own hands into his pants and get himself off, but he had a feeling Mark wouldn't like that and would make him pay for it twicefold later.  
  
His ears could detect no more sounds and for a moment he thought Mark had left the kitchen, but then his deep voice sounded, a short distance away.  
  
"Show me how you please yourself, baby."  
  
JB nearly choked on his spit because if he hadn't been as familiar with Mark's voice as he was, with the blindfold, he wouldn't have believed Mark had said that sentence. But there were only the two of them in this kitchen, and JB knew with an inseparable mix of exhilaration and shock that Mark had said it.  
  
Mark didn't say anything else, but he could sense from his silence that he was waiting for JB to obey. He could almost feel the impatience emanating tangibly from Mark across the room, and quickly hastened to comply.  
  
He felt awkward, as obviously it was his first time jerking himself off in front of somebody else, wearing a blindfold. (He didn't count the time Mark had accidentally witnessed him.)  
  
He tentatively lifted the waistband of his boxers with one hand, shoving the other in and grabbing his swollen and aching dick, sighing a little in relief. He was stunned to realise that not only did the blindfold intensify noises and taste, it also enhanced all other sensory organs. Which meant that combined with the weight of Mark's gaze he could feel burning into his skin, his cock reacted immediately and more sensitively than it usually did when he was alone.  
  
It was almost like Mark was stroking him with his eyes too, joining JB's frantic and sloppy hand -- really, just the knowledge that Mark was watching him, just like the first time, was enough to make him feel the explosion bubbling at the surface, one breath away from erupting.  
  
As he moved closer towards orgasm, he began losing himself to pure sensation, forgetting everything, forgetting where he was and who he was except for his hand on his dick and Mark standing just a few paces away, able to touch him but refusing. Denying him the pleasure. The anger that spiked in his gut only fed his hunger.  
  
He came with Mark's name on his lips, breathed like a profanity, for the second time that night. He had already come twice and Mark hadn't even done so once... or had he? JB abruptly noticed as he came down from his high that the kitchen was unnaturally silent. He had the dreadful feeling that he was the only one there again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is for Snowyirees, Lucky17 and crayyyonn :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is mature.

Feeling foolish and light-headed, blood still tingling beneath his skin, JB loosened the fingers around his dick gingerly and let it settle limply against the fabric of his boxers which chafed against his hypersensitive nerve endings. Timidly, he raised his hand to his face and slid his fingers beneath the blindfold.

When he lifted it a few millimetres, enough for the light to pierce his eyes and to catch sight of Mark, thankfully still in the kitchen, he let out an involuntary gasp. Because Mark was still standing a distance of a few paces away, but one of his hands was gripping the counter so tightly his knuckles were visibly white, and the other was fisted around his erect dick, stroking at a furious pace as he panted silently and his body trembled unsteadily, biting his lip with a determination not to let out a single noise that looked painful. His eyes were trained on JB with a hunger that seemed to want to penetrate his skin, glazed over and looking unseeing but piercing at the same time. They were half-lidded and smouldering even from across the room, but widened and cleared up a little at JB's gasp. JB shuddered as the raw, worshipful glitter in them sharpened slowly to anger. He had quickly lowered the blindfold, but it was too late. Mark had seen and he could hear his footsteps advancing towards him, trying to get his breathing under control.

When JB could feel his overpowering presence right in front of him, smell the thick scent of sex and come in the air, both Mark's and his, he suppressed the shiver that tore through his body as Mark placed a light hand on his shoulder, voice frighteningly low.

"God dammit, Jaebum. Did I allow you to peek?"

"N-no, hyung," he whimpered, feeling the heat of Mark's touch spread swiftly from his shoulder down through his body. "I'm sorry," he mumbled miserably and a little insincerely, thinking with indignant defiance that Mark didn't need to be so miserly with showing himself to JB when he could see all of JB and his every single reaction. But he wisely didn't say it out.

Mark didn't take his hand off his shoulder, instead trailing it slowly and deliberately down the length of his arm, finally stopping at his sticky left hand and picking it up. JB inhaled sharply as Mark brought his hand still covered with viscous drying cum upwards, and almost recoiled when his palm touched Mark's dick.

Mark's cock was hot and incredibly, mind-blowingly hard, the texture velvety beneath JB's fingertips, wet and slick with precum. He wanted to grope it all over, learning every inch with his unseeing fingers and pressing and prodding to discover Mark's every reaction to his different touches and the level of his sensitivity. It was his first time touching Mark's dick and he could barely restrain himself from ravenously mapping it till he had it as memorized as his own, but he didn't want to make Mark angrier.

Mark's hand tightened over JB's shoulder in response to JB's grip, and JB heard him suck in a pained breath as he worked his fingers ever so slightly, pretending to be finding a firm grip on Mark's cock. Impossibly, Mark's cock grew more rigid and seemed to burn his palm scaldingly. He made the slightest thrust into the circle of JB's fingers, just a single one before he regained control of himself, and JB felt more precum pearling at the head of his dick when he brushed the back of his hand over the sensitive tip, telling him Mark was near.

Mark's voice was breathless when he spoke up again, jagged like broken glass. "What should we do about this, then?" He sounded less angry and more undone, but still tried to maintain the sternness in his voice as JB shook his head tremblingly, unable to speak, and he continued in that authoritative tone, "Get on your knees."

There was a hint of triumph, of eagerness in Mark's voice that made JB hasten to comply, equally excited to do whatever he could to please him and bring him to climax too. Even now, he still couldn't believe that he had done this to Mark, that he had been able to wreck Mark like this just by his bumbling handjob and helpless, loud pants and moans of Mark's name. It spoke more than volumes of professions of love, Mark's adorably honest body and his desperation to hide its reactions from JB.

He quickly stumbled off the chair, keeping one hand on Mark's dick and feeling for his waist with the other to orient himself. He closed an uncertain, wary hand around Mark's hipbones, and silently thrilled when Mark didn't remove it and let it rest on the prominent, graceful comma of his hipbone as JB sank onto the floor on his knees. The floor was hard and cold even through the denim of his jeans but he was too aroused to notice the discomfort as he heard and felt Mark's muscles shifting as he sat down on the stool, taking JB's place with a muffled sigh.

JB let go of Mark's dick for a moment to scoot on his knees between Mark's legs to get closer. Mark let out a soft noise of protest and obligingly spread his legs as JB pacifyingly lowered his head to ghost hot breaths over Mark's dick till he felt it curving against his cheek impatiently. He grabbed Mark's cock again and heard Mark sigh in contentment. It occasionally twitched in JB's grip when their movements caused it to slide in and out of the circle of his hand, but as JB went down on it with the clumsy ignorance of a first timer but blind enthusiasm, he felt Mark's cock jump as he let the rest of his fingers go, sliding his index finger and thumb down to the very base, where Mark's pubic hair curled and his knuckles brushed Mark's balls.

JB flattened his tongue against the bottom of his mouth, the size of Mark's dick as his lips wrapped around it and his mouth engulfed it taking him by surprise. He pushed his mouth down on it with determination until he felt the head of Mark's dick hit the back of his throat, which contracted reflexively. At this, Mark's hips canted up with equal instinct and JB felt his hand, sticky with precum, close over his hair and hold the back of his head down till he gagged and started coughing over Mark's dick, almost choking.

Mark quickly let go of his hair, his entire body still trembling beneath JB and both his hands instead moving to cradle the back of JB's head gently, holding them down but he pulled out a few centimetres from JB's mouth so he had some space to take deep muzzled breaths. Mark's cock was hot and heavy against his tongue, tasting so indescribably strong and erotic that he couldn't breathe from the sensuality and intimacy.

He could feel Mark's cock throbbing against the inside of his mouth, rapidly leaking fresh precum from the tip which tasted salty as it trickled down his throat. He swirled his tongue a little and Mark snapped his hips up into his throat again in response, letting out a groan. His fingers twisted in JB's hair.

Still, despite his body betraying his drastic loss of control, Mark was still trying to play it cool. "Not so much teeth," he instructed in a hiss as JB bobbed his head cluelessly over his pelvis, sucking on his dick as he would a popsicle. Obediently, JB tried to sheath his teeth behind his lips and not scrape them so roughly over Mark's dick. He hoped his blowjob skills didn't display too embarrassingly his shameful lack of finesse as a complete newbie to this.

He thought Mark would come as quickly as him, but was impressed and slightly riled up at how long he managed to keep his obviously mounting pleasure at bay. JB could feel Mark's desire building, his calm dwindling, but Mark still managed to keep his coherence and composure with impressive discipline.

"You look stunning, JB," he managed to say after awhile, his voice now even again, but deep with emotion. "It's amazing how deep you can take me," Mark continued dirty-talking in that sultry voice, praising and encouraging him. "You're doing good," he soothed, hand gentle and caressing on the back of JB's head. "Your lips feel so good around my cock, Jae. I wish you could see how beautiful you look with me in your mouth..." He choked a little on the last word as JB swallowed over the head of his dick, slurping greedily at his cock and trying to envelope it fully till his lips touched the circle of his fingers at the base. He felt the muscles of Mark's pelvis tighten with impending release.

"I want to hear you say my name, Jaebum," Mark suddenly commanded, voice rough. When JB remained silent, not moving his lips from their tight suction around his dick, he prompted expectantly, "Go on, say it."

JB moved his lips, sliding up off Mark's cock a little with a wet noise. "Mark," he attempted, the word coming out garbled and strangled. He flexed the muscles of his mouth around Mark's stiffening cock and tried again. "Mark." It came out clearer the second time, though still thick and cut off by Mark's girth.

But when his throat contracted on the end of the single syllable, it seemed to be the limit of Mark's restrain. He gripped JB's head tightly with both hands, holding it steady over his cock as he made two sporadic upward thrusts with his hips, the head of his dick slapping the back of JB's throat, going so deep that he couldn't breathe for a few heartbeats. Then Mark was ejaculating, coming uncontrollably and protractedly down JB's throat, his cum hot and salty as his body shuddered in ecstasy. JB kept his head down and swallowed everything, trying not to resist and let his throat close up in reflex. Mark tried to pull out the moment he started coming, but it was too late and he only managed to after a few moments, the last of his come spurting over JB's face and cheeks as the anguished moan he heard emitting from Mark's lips through gritted teeth exhilarated all his senses. He only then realised he was impossibly, amazingly, sporting a partial boner again.

Mark took a rattling breath as the final aftershocks ripped through his body, then his voice shook as he said in contrition, "I'm sorry, I wanted to pull out -- You shouldn't have swallowed it."

JB smiled at him reassuringly, since his eyes couldn't convey that he didn't mind, had enjoyed it even. "I wanted to," he said warmly.

He could feel Mark's smile in the breathless caress of his hand on his cheek, tenderly wiping away the sticky cum. JB licked the last traces of Mark's cum from around his lips with satisfaction and heard Mark's slowing breaths quicken again. He muttered an oath, as if not used to JB's playfulness.

JB smirked in satisfaction. Mark had no idea what he was capable of. In fact, he was just getting started in his quest to get back at Mark for being such an uptight stick-in-the-mud and not letting JB share in the fun of seeing each other and joining eyes as they joined bodies.

But he didn't hear anger again in Mark's voice when he spoke up, instead a tinge of amusement, and mostly, a palpable sincerity that disarmed him completely. He had to admit that Mark knew how to use his weapons well, but he couldn't keep his entire body from dissolving into moltenness as Mark asked, voice like silk on his skin, "What do you want me to do to you, Jaebum? Tell me what you want." The appeal in his voice, the raw desire to please was genuine.

Which was why he replied with equal fervour and nothing held back, no part of him, "I want to make you happy." He was embarrassed but glad that his voice sounded as intense and willing as he felt, as unhesitating.

He wished passionately he could witness Mark's reaction to this confession, but he could only imagine how Mark looked from the soft breath that hitched in his throat and his mometarily silence that bespoke breathtaking speechlessness. "Jaebum..." Mark finally started, and couldn't continue. "Thank you," he eventually finished simply.

The wordless kiss Mark pressed against his forehead with hushed reverence told him, _You already made me happier than I ever dreamed of_. JB wanted to explain how he didn't trust his blundering, hopelessly clumsy self to break Mark, who seemed fragile as antique porcelain. Beside Mark, he didn't know his strength and felt like the Beast next to Beauty, uncontrolled, destructive. Since he was the physically stronger one, it only made sense to him that he took on the more strenous role of the submissive, confident that no matter how powerfully Mark drove himself into him, JB wouldn't break. It was all he had ever wanted, to give Mark pleasure, to hold Mark in his embrace, inside him, protectively and acceptingly. He wanted to receive Mark's love and he wanted to do so in the basest way possible, get down and dirty with Mark and see each other's most hidden sides.

"Okay," Mark replied quietly, steadily, as if JB had said all this out loud or he could read JB's mind. He didn't seem surprised by JB's desire to be dominated, instead appearing to radiate approval. JB wondered if Mark himself nursed a secret and burning desire to desecrate him completely. The thought made the hairs on his skin stand with electricity.

He stood up and wrapped an arm around JB's waist, gently steering him till JB's outstretched hand felt the steel edge of the counter. He heard Mark's voice beside him, deepening slowly. "Will you feed me the remaining cake first, baby? I don't want to waste it." By now, the term of endearment slid so naturally off Mark's lips he barely registered it.

JB let the moment lengthen deliciously before he replied, curving his lips coyly and flirtatiously, "Only if I get to eat too. I'm still hungry."

He was thrilled to hear Mark's breathless, aroused chuckle. "You're not sick of it yet?" His voice sounded warm, moved.

JB shook his head fervently. He couldn't get enough of Mark's baking, intended to finish every last bite. When he clumsily told Mark this, Mark sounded immensely pleased. He dragged a careless, lingering hand down the length of JB's torso, leaving a trail of fire blazing in its wake. Once again, JB acutely felt the unfairness of being alone in his sightlessness. He wanted to admire the beautifully-sculpted muscles of Mark's upper body too, wanted to map their topography with his hands.

 

Despite him not saying a word, it absolutely floored him when Mark asked softly, "Do you want me to take this off, baby?" He traced the lower edge of the blindfold, his finger brushing JB's face lightly.

JB's throat sounded closed up when he rasped hoarsely, "Yes, please."

Without further ado or teasing, Mark immediately untied the knot and lowered the blindfold from his eyes. JB squinted at first at the sharp rays of light piercing his unaccustomed retinas, before his vision cleared to see Mark's beloved, beautiful face, smiling softly at him with remorse.

"Sorry, _baobei_ ," he murmured appealingly. "Wearing this must have been torture for you."

Now, JB was the one to hastily protest, denying, "Not at all! It was fun!"

A sparkle of mischievous hope crept into Mark's eyes. "Does that mean you wouldn't mind trying it again?" he murmured provocatively.

JB coughed in surprise. "I-I don't mind." He struggled to get his wits back, pitching his voice playfully low. "But next time it's your turn to wear it."

He was both highly amused and aroused to hear Mark reply demurely but outrageously, "My thoughts exactly."

 

This time, he relished being able to see clearly as Mark scooped up a chunk of cake with his bare fingers and stuffed it into his mouth with childlike ungracefulness, then eagerly leaned forward, his hands finding JB's shoulders and his grip slippery with the cream. His tongue was also sweet with it as their mouths both fell open naturally and spontaneously the moment they touched, granting each other effortless access. There was something thrillingly dirty about the way their tongues shamelessly and immediately tangled, with no shyness, both of them tilting their heads at the specific angle they had found most comfortable for kissing each other. Their bodies swayed into each other, torsos brushing dizzyingly. Their tongues wrestled gently with each other for dominance, Mark letting JB lead him without resisting, then unexpectedly taming JB in a single smooth gesture.

JB didn't even bother with swallowing, too occupied with and much more enthused about tasting Mark's tongue beneath the light sponge of the cake that dissolved in the mix of their saliva and melted down his throat quickly. Mark halfheartedly broke away to grab a few more bites, panting, but eventually the cake lay abandoned as their slurping and lapping at each other's mouths only grew more hungry, starved and impassioned. It spoke for how long they ended up kissing that by the time they broke apart the final time, Mark's face was dazed, his hair hopelessly mussed and his lips puffy and abused, obscenely red; and JB could no longer taste even the faintest flavour of cake when he chased it with his own tongue swiping around his mouth.

This time, he could see with skin-crawling clarity as Mark let his eyes roam from JB's face down, dragging his gaze from his mouth down his bare upper body, to his unzipped jeans which were now barely hanging from his hips. He could feel his semi-erect cock pushing through the stiff, drying fabric of the front of his boxers, and from Mark's smirk he could tell his desire was obvious and visible.

Before he knew what he was doing, Mark had sunk down on his knees in front of JB, pushing him gently back against the countertop, making it dig into his spine. He gasped as Mark immediately nuzzled his face against JB's crotch, mouth finding the bulge of JB's dick and panting hotly over it. JB's cock immediately responded, stirring and lengthening. It sprung out, now almost fully hard when Mark reached in with both hands to free it from the confines of his boxers. JB clutched the counter tightly with both hands as Mark had earlier, his knees sliding out bonelessly beneath him.

But he wanted to touch Mark, to grab his hair with one hand at least and hold him over JB's dick so he would stop moving until JB came. So he tried to pace his breathing and tighten his muscles, thankfully able to summon enough strength to support himself on his legs after a few seconds of getting accustomed to the wet warmth of Mark's mouth as he sucked languidly on the tip of JB's cock, moving his fingers up and down the rest of the length. He moved his left hand to curl nervously in Mark's hair, and his cock twitched in the circle of Mark's hands, against his mouth as Mark's lips slid a little further down his dick, his tongue laving at the head of JB's cock. JB snapped his hips upwards in an involuntary thrust, his dick sliding past Mark's teeth and hitting the back of his tight throat. A wave of white hot pleasure crashed over him.

"Please," he breathed, hating Mark for taking his time to work JB's dick up to full hardness, till it felt like it was past the point of bursting but he hadn't shattered within Mark's mouth yet, a sensation that was terrible and blindingly pleasurable in equal measure.

Relievingly, Mark seemed to keep his sassy mouth from retorting this time, agreeably and meekly going down on JB's dick with more enthusiasm and more finesse than JB had too (not that he had anything to measure it against - he had been on the receiving end of a pitiful number of blowjobs in his life, even the few times he had been lucky enough to get laid mostly vanilla, horizontal and traditional sex. Now, he didn't think he had ever seen a more erotic sight in his life as looking down at the top of Mark's head, his adorably tousled hair mussed into a bird's nest by JB's hands, bobbing his hungrily over JB's dick and making slick and lewd noises that reverberated through the length of his cock. He watched through a half-lidded stupor, idly carding possessive fingers through the brown strands of Mark's hair, as Mark's cheeks hollowed prettily over his swelling dick, making his sharp cheekbones stand out.

JB was physically restraining himself from grabbing Mark's head with both hands, pushing him down on his dick so deep that he choked, and fucking himself into Mark's throat till he came. But Mark looked so fragile, JB couldn't bear to manhandle him like that. So instead, he allowed Mark to take his agonizingly sweet time, secretly wanting to memorize and draw out every detail of this phenomenal blowjob too, for future reference purposes. He didn't know when the next time he was so lucky would be and didn't want to take his chances.

JB was proud that he hadn't come immediately this time, his sex drive seeming to be winding down a bit from the last two times he had already come. His mind flashed in and out of consciousness every time Mark's throat clenched over the head of his aching dick, saliva and other fluids dribbling out of his mouth from the corners of his lips down JB's crotch, the noises growing wetter and the suction of his mouth hotter. JB's entire body was shaking like a leaf in the wind, wracked by uncontrollable tremors of pleasure that tore through his frame.

After a few moments, he was surprised and frustrated when Mark raised his mouth off JB's dick and detached his lips with a pop. JB looked down and saw with a clench of his heart that Mark's lips were a bright, swollen crimson, slick with his cum, his eyes glossy with lust and face more wrecked with exertion and need than JB had ever seen it. He couldn't see Mark's cock but was pretty sure he had made Mark hard again.

"Jaebum," Mark said softly, voice slurred and fucked raw. "Fuck my mouth."

JB hissed out a breath at the boldness of Mark's words, laced with desperation. It was disguised as an order but sounded almost a plea. He wondered if Mark needed JB to fuck his throat as much as JB needed to do it.

So without further ado, he hurried to obey, grabbing Mark's hair with rough hands but thrusting in gently the first time, trying to keep the spaces between his thrusts even as he built up a rhythm. But every time the head of his cock hit the back of Mark's throat, impossibly deep and Mark garbled a cry or moaned over his cock, his thrusts intensified helplessly with the need to come at once.

After a few more thrusts, thankfully, he felt the muscles in his pelvis loosening with delicious release and had the presence of mind to haul Mark off his dick just as he began to come, no matter how much he wanted to come down Mark's throat. White streaked across Mark's dazed, flushed face as JB groaned in orgasm, eyes squeezed shut. But they flew open again when he felt Mark grab his spurting dick and engulf it in his mouth again, closing the heavenly back of his throat over JB's sensitized cock head and slackening the back of his mouth while tightening his lips over the base of JB's dick, letting JB's come flow down his throat. He lapped up every last drop of JB's cum, sucking the last ejaculations out of it and milking JB greedily through his aftershocks. JB was panting wildly, his chest heaving as he came back down from his high, so flabbergasted he didn't even know what to say.

He felt completely wrung out, thoroughly fucked and drained body and soul in a way that not even the longest days in the kitchen in the past three years had ever made him. The lassitude and all-consuming numbness spreading all over his body and limbs in a warm glow was so fulfilling. And he realised with surprise that they hadn't even gone all the way.

He assumed that it was over, letting his body slacken and rest trustingly in Mark's arms, against his sturdy chest as Mark ran a soothing hand up and down his back, rubbing in circles. But when he pressed his lower body against Mark's to get closer, JB was stunned to feel Mark's cock digging into his thigh, rigid in a raging erection.

Of course, Mark had only come once so far because he had been so busy pleasuring JB and satisfying him, and JB had been the only one who orgasmed from the blowjob. It wasn't surprising that he was still unsatisfied and unfulfilled. JB's cock felt too fucked out to stir more than a little, tamely, but he passionately wanted to help Mark come as blissfully as he had, prove that he could bring Mark to his highest heights the way he effortlessly took JB there and back and there again.

So he slid his hand between their bodies, palming Mark's dick clumsily and groping the bulge which intensified in hardness at his contact. Mark groaned and rutted against JB's hand, sounding frustrated.

"Mark, I want you," JB whispered daringly, his heart racing. He took Mark's hand and guided it to the back of his ass, swallowing a gasp when Mark fit his palm against the curve of his ass and tightened his fingers over JB's cheeks. "I want you here," JB clarified in a voice like glass shards. He heard Mark's muffled gasp too as pleased surprise lit his face and he grabbed JB's ass with both hands, grinding their dicks together roughly.

"Are you sure?" Mark asked with tight concern. He sounded wrecked.

JB nodded, body melting into his unresistingly. He smiled and felt himself blushing hotter. "Positive."

The smile that lit up Mark's entire countenance was positively giddy. JB was moved by the realisation that Mark had never expected him to go all the way today, never intended to push him into anything he wasn't ready for. For all his aggression and dominance, Mark was still determined to take things as slowly as JB needed. And all JB wanted was to give himself entirely to Mark in return, as soon as humanly possible.

"I want all of you," he whispered firmly, repetitively, but Mark seemed to be hearing the words for the first time, the astonished happiness that lit his face illuminating the entire kitchen. The words seemed to be all the encouragement he needed to slide his hands worshipfully down the sides of JB's body, halting at the top of his jeans.

JB teetered unsteadily on his feet, half from nervousness and half from excitement as Mark divested him of his jeans and he helpfully kicked them off. Mark didn't seem to be bothering with the romance and foreplay any longer as he unceremoniously tossed JB's jeans aside and grabbed both sides of the hem of JB's boxers.

JB's cock sprung loose when Mark lowered his boxers down over his thighs, not as hard as the last three times but definitely mildly erect and growing more so with every second of mounting excitement. Mark slid his boxers down his legs, the physical act of his clothes being removed by someone else awkward by nature but the jerkiness of Mark's actions somehow making them unexpectedly hot. He dropped JB's cum-soiled boxers on the floor too, then spread JB's legs with both hands on his knees, crowding between them. Mark grinded up against him, the denim of his own jeans chafing JB's cock which curved up slightly with interest, smearing against Mark's bare stomach. He let his hands wander down too, fingering the hem of Mark's boxers playfully and questioningly. Mark replied his silent question with a tight nod, eyes painfully closed.

Mirroring Mark's actions, JB found his hands shaking too as he timidly slid his fingers between Mark's jeans and his hipbones and pushed it down a little. He did the same with his boxers, working it with difficulty down over Mark's rigid dick, which felt so painfully hard when the back of his hand grazed it that he felt his head grow light at the thought of something so huge and rigid being shoved into his body.

Mark stopped him when he had pushed both his jeans and boxers a little way down his thighs. "That's enough." He sounded impatient, breaths shortening. Before JB realised what was happening, Mark had lifted him off his feet with his hands beneath JB's arms and settled him down heavily to sit on the counter. He spread JB's legs shamefully wide, eyes moving down swiftly and honing in on JB's hole which he could feel starting to twitch uncontrollably in anticipation. Mark's pupils dilated, irises blown when he dragged them back up to gaze into JB's eyes with difficulty.

"Don't be shy," he murmured, smile tender and familiar as always. "There's nothing to be embarrassed about."

JB nodded, but was unable to stop blushing. He wished Mark would stop scrutinizing him so hungrily, devouring the most private parts of his body with his eyes, and get on with it already. He felt vulnerable, exposed in front of Mark. He had never revealed so much of himself to any other human being.

He couldn't help the way his eyes kept being helplessly drawn back to Mark's dick, which only seemed to increase, impossibly, in size at the sight of JB's naked ass, thickening and lengthening as he closed his own fingers over it and gave it a few strokes. Mark closed his eyes and sighed excruciatingly.

When he opened his eyes, they were burning. JB blushed hotter, lowering his lashes to hide his own eyes from the intensity. He swallowed as they fell on Mark's cock, fisted in his grip, precum gathering at the reddened tip. Mark followed the direction of his gaze and seemed to sense his fears, letting out a soft breathless chuckle. "Don't worry," he stroked the side of JB's head briefly with one hand, cupping his ear. "I'll prep you well. It won't hurt that much."

He winced, as if afraid JB would back out now because of cowardice. But JB hastened to reassure him with a shaky grin, "I'm not afraid! I'm ready."

Mark smiled with tender gratitude at his bravado. JB knew he had been enduring his growing erection for a long time already, and didn't want to make Mark wait any longer for his release. So he spread his legs indecently wide and curled his lips in a come-hither smile at Mark, leaning back with his hands braced on the cool steel of the countertop. "Prep me."

Mark's eyes darkened at his seductive tone, but he didn't say anything and seemed relieved as he quickly tore his eyes away from JB's body and turned to stride to his bag on the opposite counter. He rummaged through it, spilling various random articles, odds and ends. After a few moments, he dug out a tube with triumph. It looked brand-new and JB gulped as Mark walked towards him with intent, smile growing.

"This will make it less painful," he explained gently once he was back in front of JB again, close enough for JB to read the name of the product on the sticker. It was a multi-purpose lotion-cum-lubricant. Mark opened the cover and squirted a generous amount onto his palm. The consistency was slightly more viscous than liquid, a translucent cream colour that was shiny like grease under the lights.

"It's a little cold," Mark continued, still in that gentle voice, like he was coaxing an animal out of hiding. "Don't be surprised," he warned, pressing his palms together and spreading it over his hands to warm it up slightly.

JB nodded, and felt his hole quiver in anticipation. He bit his teeth into his lower lip as Mark's eyes were drawn down by the tremor in his thighs, glistening with want. "Are you ready?" he asked, eyes on JB's hole, voice little more than a whisper.

JB made a strangled noise of assent. Mark took a deep breath, then moved his right hand down. JB's entire body jumped, making the table creak when the first tip of Mark's finger met with his rim. He gasped loudly as Mark slowly circled it with his fingers, then slid one inside, up to his first knuckle.

"Does it hurt?" Mark queried anxiously, his face a blotchy red, but JB shook his head in surprise and relief. Maybe it was because it was just a little of one finger, but it honestly didn't. In fact, it felt more good than painful, more foreign than uncomfortable. But it was a sensation he could get used to. He wriggled a little to loosen his tensed up muscles, the movement making him sink down slightly more on Mark's finger. Mark inhaled at the tightness they could both feel. The lube was cold, but JB liked the contrast to the heat that was burning up the rest of his body like an inferno.

"More?" Mark asked him eagerly, voice gravelly, and he nodded quickly. Mark eased the rest of his finger in, then JB felt his middle finger pressing against the base of his index finger, at his rim. He almost asphyxiated at this sensation, the knowledge that in a moment, at his very command, Mark would slide his second finger into JB, passage smoothened by the lube, joining his first in touching JB so intimately. He loved this feeling, this feeling of being on the verge of expected and certain overwhelming ecstasy, just one heartbeat away from possessing the greatest happiness.

Mark worked his second finger in carefully, suddenly clumsy and sensitive to JB's every reaction. He could feel both of their breaths being audibly held, the air between them suspended. When he had pressed it in knuckle-deep, JB finally let out his breath, feeling himself contract around Mark. Mark's eyes snapped to his, stricken as well by the sensation.

JB shifted a little, testing it out once he had taken a few deep breaths and grown more accustomed to the stretch. It didn't feel bad or painful, but it didn't feel brain-meltingly good either like he had heard and expected. It felt good, but mostly just what you'd imagine a finger slicked-up with lube shoved into one's ass would feel -- alien, intrusive. He felt a little disappointed, not getting what the big deal was about. Maybe this wasn't really for him.

After waiting patiently for a while, Mark slid his fingers in and out, twisting them a little. "How does that feel?" he asked, smile breathtakingly intimate.

JB was mortified and horrified to hear a giggle escaping his mouth before he could swallow it. "T-tickles," he gasped.

Mark stopped moving his fingers, looking both amused and aroused as he felt the vibrations of JB's laughter through his fingertips. "Does it tickle?" he echoed, pulling out a little and shoving his fingers in again, making JB burst into breathy laughter again on cue. He was worried Mark wuold get angry that JB couldn't be serious when he was trying to seduce him and be sexy, but JB's mirth seemed to be infectious as Mark started laughing softly too, his breath catching on occasional breathy moans as JB rocked himself down on his fingers. The awkward tension that had been palpable in the air since they started fumbling through the motions was relievingly released in the form of nervous laughter.

Then Mark suddenly scissored his fingers, stretching JB apart, and making the laugh bubbling from his throat die on his tongue, turning into a guttural moan. Mark fell silent as well, all traces of laughter fading from his eyes as he crooked his fingers, pressing against a spot deep inside JB that made him gasp, " _Ah!_ Holy shit, Mark --" His hands scrabbled for Mark's shoulders, curling around them tightly as he dug his nails into Mark's skin and tried to get his wildly spiralling body under control.

On his next exhale, without warning, Mark slid a third finger in, making his hips buck up, body convulsing reflexively. "You're so tight, Jaebum-ah," Mark murmured, voice slurred and eyes unfocused as he pushed all three fingers in, deep and curled them slightly so that JB's mouth fell open in a silent scream. "Has anyone else ever touched you here?"

When JB nodded incoherently, he felt Mark's fingers stiffen inside him, starting to pull out. A sob caught in his throat as he hurriedly pushed himself back down on them, swallowing Mark's fingers greedily with lewd noises that made him blush. In response, Mark thrust into JB once roughly with his fingers, drawing out a moan of sharp pleasure.

"Who?" he demanded, eyes drilling into JB's. Mark's heart was in his eyes and it looked like it was breaking. JB instantly realised his mistake and Mark's misunderstanding, inhaling sharply in distress.

"N-no!" he tried to explain between the flashes of white-hot pleasure at Mark finger-fucking him relentlessly, his pace intensifying as if he was trying to make JB come undone. "It was m-me," JB gasped, tongue tripping over his words. "I touched myself, thinking of y-you."

At his last stuttered word, Mark's fingers stilled within him, and JB whined in frustration, so close. Mark's eyes were wide and stark, stricken with guilt at his misunderstanding.

He tried to pull his fingers out again but JB locked his arms around Mark's neck and clung to him like a koala. Mark gazed into his eyes searchingly.

"Hyung," JB whimpered, though he knew Mark preferred him to address him as an equal. It just felt important to call Mark by the respectful honorific now, to express how JB felt in his very bones the ownership Mark had over him, how he was Mark's possession and would willingly give himself entirely to him. He gazed straight into the depths of Mark's eyes, the gripping intensity. "I'm ready."

Mark leaned in to lower his lips to JB's ear as he slowly and carefully withdrew his fingers, his mouth brushing the shell of his ear. "Don't ever let anyone else see you like this," he whispered, and JB answered tearfully, "I promise."

When Mark had eased his fingers out, JB immediately felt their absence acutely, his hole clenching over nothing. He was disconsolate and inconsolable, whimpering implacably and needing Mark's dick to fill the space he had created inside JB, the space he had not even known before today was so gaping and empty with a Mark-shaped hole inside him.

Mark soothed his muffled whines as best he could, seeming to be finding it difficult to stay in control too as he grabbed his dick roughly and gave it a few sloppy strokes, then moved in and lined himself up against JB's entrance. JB sank down on him a little, his hole already stretched and scissored open by Mark's fingers, enveloping the tip of his dick easily. Mark inhaled sharply and thrust forward a little, sinking in deeper till the burning friction stopped them with his dick halfway into JB's ass. JB took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, deliberately loosening all his muscles as Mark pressed in with careful and inching determination. He managed to slide in another few inches and JB shifted to find a more comfortable position, Mark feeling so hot within him, burning him from the inside out that it made his head swim.

"Are you okay?" Mark struggled to regain his power of speech as he brushed JB's matted, sweaty bangs away to peer into his eyes. JB nodded and gritted his teeth. "I'm fine," he whispered. "You can go all the way."

His consent was all Mark needed to lose his qualms and JB felt Mark's palms closing around his hips and moving down to his ass as he pulled JB forward at the same time as he snapped his hips into JB, finally bottoming out in one swift thrust.

"Fuck... you're so fucking tight," Mark groaned, voice wrecked. JB could feel the bass of his voice reverberating from his dick all the way inside him, and it was the most erotic thing. He shifted a little, so they could both be more comfortable, aware that he was clenching around Mark as painfully tightly as he felt Mark breaching the untouched coil of muscles inside him. Mark was trying not to move, to wait patiently till he got used to the stretch and burn, but JB could sense the effort it took to hold himself still.

Mark shifted a little again, making a shallow thrust, and this time the head of his dick briefly grazed the same spot his fingers had found inside JB. JB saw sparks dancing before his eyes and he thought he might be about to black out. But he sternly forbade himself to, wanting to stay present and indulge in this exquisite carnal pleasure till the very last second.

"You can move now," he breathed in anticipation, wanting this to reach its culmination almost as much as he wanted it to last forever. He had never in his twenty-six years known a bliss like this, but the next moment as Mark pulled out to the tip, then slammed into him again, he ate his own words. Dear god, this pleasure -- there was nothing like it. Nothing he could compare it to. It was indescribable.

Mark made a few similar, deep thrusts, but JB could sense he was still holding part of himself back, trying to keep the pace controlled. He continued hitting JB's prostate with breathtaking precision, extracting low and wanton moans from his lips as JB writhed and locked his ankles behind Mark's back, trying to draw him deeper in. Each of Mark's powerful thrusts rocked his entire frame.

"Where do you like me, Jae?" Mark breathed in his ear, voice low. "Here?" He slammed into JB at an angle that made a long shameless moan escape his loose lips. "Tell me what feels good," Mark urged, touchingly eager and anxious to please. JB could feel every word he uttered echo through his body, feel every movement and breath Mark took like it was his own -- their bodies were so deeply and intimately connected.

So this was what all the fuss was about, JB finally understood; Mark moving within him, gentle and rough, vulnerable and powerful in equal measure. He had to admit, it _was_ brain-melting, knowing that it was he, tight around Mark, who had reduced him to this wreck, this heat, driving him crazy. Knowing he held such power.

Mark continued pounding into him in an unrelenting and gradually intensifying rhythm, their bodies moving in tandem against each other, slick with perspiration and other fluids. The metal countertop was nailed to the ground so the legs didn't move, but the table creaked with the force of Mark's thrusts. JB raked his fingernails down his bare back, pulling him ever deeper in as they worked together, searching and finding impossible and unexpected friction. He felt like wax melting beneath the fire of Mark's touch, Mark's beloved and impossibly talented hands that he had fallen in love with even before he fell in love with Mark, now huge and possessive as they gripped his ass tightly and then surprisingly gentle as they travelled up to span his back, roving in hungry wonder over his bare skin.

Always attentive to JB's comfort, his body convulsed as he felt one of Mark's hands close around his dick, wrapping his fingers tightly around JB's length as he pulled upwards in slow steady strokes. The simultaneous stimulation of Mark driving into him and his hand pumping over his dick made JB's mind short-circuit with a sensory overload. His body tightened, thighs shaking as he clenched over Mark once on a final sloppy thrust, then he felt himself exploding over Mark's hand, coming uncontrollably as Mark shattered to completion inside him a moment after, his cum hot against JB's walls and leaking out of his ass as it overflowed.

Mark pulled out with a shaky breath, trembling visibly. His cum trickled down JB's thigh and it was the most lurid sensation he had ever felt. He blushed violently, unable to meet Mark's eyes as his body still felt like it didn't belong to himself, reeling. He couldn't control the unceasing waves of pleasure still breaking over him, his ass sore but unbelievably satiated. It had been five minutes and both of them were still breathing heavily. Mark reached out and gently took his chin, leaning in.

 

x

 

It took Junior a while to put a finger on what he was feeling. But then he realised with a start -- it was anger. It was an emotion he was unfamiliar with and rarely felt, because he liked to think himself good-tempered, but this time he was irrefutably angry. He was angry because Jackson knew. He knew Junior was gay, so what was he doing cracking all these tasteless and insensitve jokes? Was he trying to make fun or tease Junior, or did he really think they were funny? He should know better.

But then he would hear another knock on his door at night and his heart would soar and sink simultaneously, knowing even before he opened it that it could only be Jackson standing outside, looking warm and sleepy and cuddly in a pearl grey or dark red sweater -- it didn't matter, he looked gorgeous in every colour. How could Junior stay angry with him when he looked like an oversized teddy bear?

He had backed himself into a corner and he knew it with dread. His feelings were building dangerously, threatening to overflow with every passing day. Something had to give, sooner or later.

"Do you know where I can find cheap apartments for rent?" he asked offhandedly one day, when they were shooting the breeze in the alley on another ubiquitous afternoon which had started feeling more like pain than pleasure. He had been in love with Jackson for seven and a half months now, and it was starting to feel tiring.

Jackson spun around, eyes snapping up to his. "Why?" He trained his attention on Junior, studying him closely. His own eyes were unreadable.

Junior shrugged one shoulder, trying to act casual. "Nothing. I was just thinking of moving out of the dormitory."

"Why?" Jackson repeated, but this time his voice was a whole octave higher, shrill with urgency.

When Junior didn't reply immediately, Jackson grabbed his shoulders and shook him hard, eyes flashing. "I asked you a question, damn it."

Junior reacted on instinct, shrugging off his hands. "What business is it of yours?" he retorted coldly, dismayed to find himself taking the defensive but unable to act any other way.

Jackson just stood there, looking at him for a moment with those inscrutable eyes. He didn't make another move to touch Junior, just held his eyes flatly, his mouth pressed in a line as if there were no more words to be said between them. Then he turned and stalked away silently.

 

Later that afternoon, he was helping Tzuyu run the food and pastries, relieved that he was safe from interacting with Jackson for at least a few hours. But a short time into the shift, his attention was attracted by a commotion at the drinks collection point where Yugyeom was filling in with Youngjae who had switched duties with him to spend time with Bambam in the kitchen as he did sometimes (Yugyeom seldom agreed unless they bribed him with favours that usually involved helping him to romance Tzuyu).

As he drew closer, he was surprised to hear Yugyeom's raised voice, which was a rare occurence as the youngest boy had the natural disposition of a giant cuddly stuffed animal. But Junior had noticed that Jackson was a person who seemed to have the dubious ability to rile up even the most good-natured of people, even someone as saintly as Mark. Now, Yugyeom seemed to have reached the limit of his patience as he complained bitterly to Mark who he had apparently called out of the kitchen: "This is the sixth order he's fucked up in one hour. I don't appreciate having to grovel and apologize to customers for something I didn't do."

Mark said something, voice low, which Junior couldn't hear. His eyes moved to Jackson sloping around the bar, his movements sluggish and listless. He looked like he didn't give a fuck what was going on but when Mark called him over, he glared at Yugyeom with no love lost and muttered under his breath, "Tattletale." Yugyeom flushed but looked unrepentant and self-righteous.

Junior pretended to be busy examining receipts at the food collection counter, while discreetly hovering nearby to eavesdrop. Mark said something quietly to Jackson, but Jackson retaliated, "I can handle it," his eyes spitting fire, and Mark backed off helplessly after a few minutes. Yugyeom gave Jackson a dirty look at the failure of his mission, and grudgingly resumed his duties after Mark had murmured to him in a placating tone for a few seconds. Jackson slouched back to making his drinks, looking unconcerned and belligerent.

Not knowing what to do and with the undelivered orders piling up, Junior quickly snapped back into action too. But he was preoccupied with worrying about Jackson and at the same time refusing to allow himself to look over, worried that Jackson would catch him staring. He had a feeling of consternation that Jackson's dark mood might be related to their awkward encounter in the alley. Distracted, he nearly tripped over his own shoes and dropped a tray of ceramic plates. Yugyeom rushed over to help him up, fussing and wondering out loud what was wrong with everybody today and Tzuyu bustled to get a broom to sweep up the shards. When he clumsily got to his feet, he caught Jackson standing stock still with his eyes on him, cold, upset, frustrated and quickly tore his own eyes away, heart pounding.

 

A few hours later, the reason Jackson was messing up an inordinate number of orders today became apparent to him when he caught sight of him swigging from a glass bottle of spirits between orders, chugging back the alcohol neat. His movements were becoming obviously unsteady too, loose and staggering, his face flushed intoxicatedly.

Junior gritted his teeth as he considered his options, irritation rising at how Jackson always had to make a nuisance of himself before he was satisfied. He looked around, but none of the other staff seemed to have noticed his growing drunkenness, too busy with the peak hour. After a few minutes, he realised he had no other choice. He put down the tray he was holding and slipped into the kitchen, where JB and Mark looked surprised at being interrupted but Mark came over immediately and kindly asked him if anything was the matter.

Junior rolled his eyes to disguise his anxiety with exasperation. "Jackson's drunk," he told Mark succintly, looking at him expectantly to handle the problem.

JB walked over to join them. "Again?" he groaned, shaking his head.

Junior stared at him. "Does he... do this often?" He realised with a pang how little he actually knew Jackson, not even as well as JB.

"Only when he's really upset," Mark replied him with sympathy, and there was something knowing about his eyes that made Junior feel like he saw through him too transparently.

He blushed, avoiding Mark's eyes. "What should we do?"

Mark placed a hand on his shoulder reassuringly. "Don't worry, he'll be fine as long as he doesn't drink too much. Can you take him to the back to rest for about twenty minutes or so, and keep an eye on him? Give him some tea or water to sober him up. JB will take care of the bar till he's back."

JB nodded and smiled at Mark acquiescingly, taking off his apron and hat and gesturing to Junior to head out together. Junior took a deep breath and followed him into the cafe.

It wasn't easy to get Jackson to agree to let JB handle his duties for a while, as the liquor had made him quarrelsome and spiteful. But JB eventually got him to reluctantly hand over the duties by warning him in a low voice that if he made a ruckus and disturbed the customers, Mark wouldn't be happy about it.

Jackson looked defeated, displeasured and still frustrated as he stalked out of the cafe through the kitchen and towards the back door with Junior trailing at his heels fretfully. He was weaving on his feet and Junior's hands hovered behind his elbows, ready to catch him if he swayed off balance.

He spun around in the alley when he heard Junior's footsteps behind him. "Why are you following me?" he growled, and Junior grimaced. He really didn't want to have this conversation right now.

"Did you report me to Mark?" Jackson demanded incredulously. Junior flushed and looked at the ground.

"I can't believe this," he muttered, and Junior's heart tightened at the disgust in his voice. He heard a footstep in front of him, and when he looked up he was alarmed to find Jackson right in his face, his own face red from the spirits, eyes glassy and unfocused.

He took a step back as Jackson continued advancing, backing him against the wall. He slammed a palm beside Junior's head as his back hit the wall with a thud.

"I thought we agreed just today to stay out of each other's business," Jackson spat out, eyes frosty. "Or was it just me who's not allowed to ask questions, while you can poke your meddling nose into all my affairs?"

Junior flinched at the hostility emanating from him, the unfriendliness. He took a deep breath, trying to tell himself that Jackson wasn't himself, and only being nasty because he was drunk.

"You're drunk," he said, trying to sound soothing. "You need to take a rest --"

"Don't patronize me," Jackson snapped. "I'm not drunk enough to forget you exist, unfortunately."

Okay, Junior thought, taking a deep breath. That hurt. That really hurt. He had no idea that Jackson hated him so much he wanted to drink himself into forgetting Junior's existence.

"Sorry for bothering you," he found himself mumbling after a protracted, awkward silence. He was horrified to feel his eyes prickling and hastily blinked back the tears, which thankfully didn't fall. "I'll just... I'll just go --"

He broke off, voice cracking on the last word and sounding unnaturally thick. He turned his back on Jackson quickly before his emotions betrayed him. His hand was on the doorknob when he inhaled sharply to feel Jackson's hand close tightly over his shoulder, wrenching him around to face him again.

"Why are you crying?" Jackson demanded, hands coming up to Junior's face, and Junior was shocked to realise that his tears had unconsciously spilled over and tracked down his face, making him look vulnerable and exposed and transparent. "Shit, what's wrong with you?" Jackson's words slurred with frustration even as his thumb brushed away Junior's fresh tears with surprising gentleness.

Junior didn't answer. They stared at each other for countless heartbeats, a lifetime. Neither of them broke the silence. _Stalemate_ , Junior found himself thinking, unaccountably.

He opened his mouth, not even sure what the words dancing on the tip of his tongue were, only that they had been there for as long as he could remember. But Jackson forestalled him.

"I'm done with this shit," he blurted out, voice rough but surprisingly lucid. "Junior -- I'm not going to play games anymore." He pinned Junior's eyes with his own dark ones, which were unsettlingly serious and intense.

"I like you," Jackson said brusquely, the words Junior had dreamt of hearing so many times, he couldn't believe he was hearing them for real now. "Do you like me?"

Jackson's voice was deceptively careless, full of bravado, but the tips of his ears were bright red and his chin was tucked into his chest, studying the ground as if afraid to look up at Junior. He looked terrified, as scared witless as Junior felt. Junior could see the outlines of his fists, balled up and jammed in his pockets.

"I --" he searched helplessly for his voice, tears blurring his vision. He wanted so desperately to reply Jackson immediately, as unhesitatingly and passionately as he felt, had felt for months, since the day he met Jackson and fell in love at first sight. He wanted to assuage Jackson's worries, to let him know with his mouth worshipful on his how much Junior wanted him and adored him and thought he was the epitome of flawless perfection.

But Jackson cut him off again before he could finish his reply. He bulldozed on, seeming afraid to hear Junior's answer. "I know I'm unromantic as fuck and this is the least romantic place I could possibly say this. But Junior --" Jackson's eyes pleaded mutely, "-- when I thought I might lose you, I just lost it." His voice shook with emotion.

Junior stifled a gasp, swallowing hard over the lump of tears in his throat. His eyes were watering freely now, and he didn't know if the tears were from happiness or heartbreak or frustration, or all of the above. Jackson was so heartbreakingly beautiful, standing there in the dwindling light of the encroaching night, his eyes glowing as bright as streetlamps as he clumsily confessed his love for Junior.

"I told you I never felt passionate about anything, right?" he said softly, tilting his head. "I never really wanted anything in my life... until I met you."

It was the raw and honest simplicity of this statement that sold Junior fully, that unclogged the plug in his throat. Because although he hadn't realised, since a few moments ago when Jackson had confessed, he had had a feeling of surreal unreality, of his feet not touching the ground. Because after all, everything Jackson said now was said when he wasn't sober. How did Junior know he could hold him to it when he came back to his senses? Today's events had only proven that he didn't know Jackson well enough. Jackson was known to be overly affectionate even when not drunk, so what if this was just that, intensified? For all he knew, Jackson could be one of those people who turned into kissing monsters who walked around seducing everyone they met when he was drunk.

But the genuine tenderness in his eyes that Junior saw with glasslike clarity now was not a trick of the light or alcohol. It was just Jackson -- his heart, stripped and bare and vulnerable as Junior standing before him and wiping away his tears furiously but unable to stem them, making the strangest laughing and sobbing sounds.

He was rendered speechless once again, unable to articulate how incredibly moved he was that Jackson hadn't just left the answer in his hands after he said _I like you_. He hadn't intended to depend on Junior's _yes_ or _no_. He wouldn't have given up, even if Junior didn't feel the same way, wouldn't have let him go without a chance at winning his heart and appealing towards him with sincerity. And this was how Junior knew, even though Jackson hadn't spelt it out, that Jackson thought he was worth fighting for.

"Jinyoung..." Jackson looked worried as his weird sob-laughs turned slightly hysterical, and Junior realised with panic that he still had not replied Jackson's question. He was worried, terrified that Jackson would retract it, rescind his offer before Junior could take him up on it. But Junior knew now that he wouldn't give up on Jackson without a fight too. He couldn't. He had attempted to run away, to bury his emotions and try to forget the existence of a certain Jackson Wang, not knowing that Jackson's existence had grown to occupy too big a space in his heart in the past few months to be that easily surgically removed without leaving a scar.

Jackson looked bereft, contrite, heartbreakingly heartbroken. "I'm sorry," he whispered, sounding anguished. "Did I upset you? You can just forget what I said, it's okay..."

"No!" Junior finally found his voice, at the critical juncture. Gratefully, he sobbed expressively, "I don't want to forget it, so don't you dare either. I like you too, Jackson-ah. So, so much. And I'm never going to let go of you."

The sheer surprise and unadulterated glee that broke over Jackson's pale face was like the sunrise in the alley at 8 PM, so bright Junior could hardly bear to look. There was so much honesty, so much simple and pure adoration in Jackson's face that for a moment it seemed senseless, incomprehensible how they had taken the long way, making so many detours and running around in circles to get to this point. But the way Jackson was looking at him, eyes full of acceptance and soft with forgiveness, made him think that everything was okay despite that, that his cowardly, withdrawing and retreating self was still, somehow, perfect in Jackson's eyes.

"Jinyoung..." Jackson breathed, blinking a little dazedly. "Do you really mean that?" He seemed to share Junior's sense of disbelief and unreality, needing to confirm and reaffirm each other's feelings again and again before they finally felt like they were standing on the cold hard ground.

Junior nodded, smiling, without a single trace of impatience. He would be willling to spend the rest of his life repeating to Jackson every day that he loved him, if it meant he could wake up next to Jackson every morning.

Jackson took a hesitant step towards him, and nearly tripped over his shoelaces. Junior had almost forgotten he was still tipsy, but their conversation seemed to have sobered him up a lot. He quickly and instinctively reached out to steady Jackson's elbows with his hands, catching him in his arms, and Jackson blushed, keeping his hands on Junior's. Junior gasped softly as Jackson lifted one of his hands to his lips, and bent over it in an absurdly old-fashioned gesture, pressing a chaste and adoring kiss with his lips brushing Junior's knuckles as if he had dreamt of doing this for the longest time.

He let go of Junior's hand reluctantly, his kiss still branded on his skin. For a few moments, they just beamed at each other foolishly, basking in the afterglow of their mutually realised feelings.

"I never knew..." Junior blurted out, breaking the silence, and Jackson's eyes widened in incredulousness at the stupefaction on his face.

"Junior, I know you don't exactly have the highest EQ in the world, but you can't not have noticed that I've been flirting with you practically, oh, every minute, since the first day you walked through the doors."


	10. Chapter 10

Junior's jaw dropped at the implications of Jackson's statement that he had fallen for him at first sight too.  
  
"I did!" he bristled defensively, blushing furiously. "But I thought that was the way you treated everybody!"  
  
Jackson's eyes narrowed, shaking his head. "I'm insulted," he said after a moment. "Do you really see me as such a greaseball?"  
  
Junior debated whether to answer this question truthfully for a minute before deadpanning boldly, "Actually... yes."  
  
Jackson's eyes bulged as he grinded his teeth. "Don't think I won't punch you in your perfect teeth just because you're my boyfriend now," he warned, but Junior only heard the last three words of the statement. His heart did a backflip, but he tried to affect nonchalance, hoping his blush wasn't visible in the dark.  
  
"I don't mind," he blurted out, his voice sounding sultry and flirtatious. "If you use your lips," he added, with a grin that was probably more creepy than sexy.  
  
Jackson's eyes widened, then he immediately groaned and covered his face with his hands. "God," he said darkly through his fingers. "Remind yourself never to try using any pick-up lines again."  
  
Junior harrumphed, taking the high road and choosing not to point out that Jackson's ears were red even though he was pretending to cringe in disgust. In the mangas he read, they had a name for people like him: _tsundere_ s.  
  
"I came out to you!" he screeched in a low voice, continuing their ongoing argument. "Wasn't I clear enough?"  
  
Jackson stared at him with dead eyes. "Um, no." Unexpectedly, his eyes turned a little more serious. "It gave me hope, but I didn't want to assume... that just because you were gay, you would like me." He lowered his head, suddenly shy.  
  
Junior snorted, hiding the way the gesture went straight past his defenses. He blurted out thoughtlessly, "Even JB could tell! I was so obvious."  
  
Jackson looked up sharply at JB's name, eyes guarded again. "JB knew... you liked me... before I did?"  
  
Junior didn't like the way his face closed up, his body tensing up with displeasure. "Uhh..." Why on earth had he even said that?  
  
"So that was what you guys were talking about, all those times in his room? Me? Were you discussing me behind my back?"  
  
Jackson's eyes narrowed at him in animosity. Junior gulped. "I... I didn't!" he lied. "We were talking about other things!"  
  
This seemed to piss Jackson off even more, however. He looked unsatisfied with Junior's answer as he took a step towards him, getting in his face, and said roughly, "God, you're unbelievable."  
  
Their chests brushed, and Jackson's breath hitched the slightest bit as Junior met his dark eyes with challenge. "I'll take that as a compliment," he said, voice low, and watched Jackson's eyes darken further, with a sardonic glint of amusement.  
  
He backed off relievingly, and scoffed with less malice, "Maybe you would've noticed I was carrying a torch for you if you weren't so up your own ass half the time."  
  
Again, Junior's selective hearing made his heart leap at the first half of the sentence. But he kept his eyes on Jackson impassively and retorted with sass, "I could say the same for you." He lifted his chin, looking down his nose pointedly to drive in their meagre height difference, and Jackson laughed out loud.  
  
"I can't believe I'm in love with such a pretentious fuck," he muttered under his breath, looking genuinely amazed, and despite himself, Junior's breath caught in his throat embarrassingly loudly.  
  
"You're... in love with me?" he echoed, sounding hoarse.  
  
Jackson looked up, and this time all the hardness had melted out of his eyes, leaving only softness and something that looked like pity. He met Junior's eyes through veiled lashes.  
  
"Madly," he replied softly.  
  
Despite everything, Jackson was still ultimately being the gentleman, Prince Charming, and it was this which quietened Junior and all the biting remarks on the tip of his tongue. He didn't mean any of them anyway, so why was he hiding his true feelings behind them, just to be contrary? Jackson could act like a douchebag all he wanted, but Junior wasn't going to let himself forget that Jackson was the one who had plucked up the courage to take the initiative to confess bravely to him first.  
  
"Jackson," he whispered, taking a step towards the older boy, and Jackson stayed where he was, only his eyes growing brighter as Junior moved closer.  
  
Junior raised a trembling hand and caressed Jackson's face. His skin felt like silk, pale as snow in the light of the moon. He tilted his head slightly, leaning into Junior's touch, and let out the softest sigh of contentment.  
  
"I'm sorry," Jackson apologised humbly and unexpectedly. "This isn't coming out right." Junior felt warm skin brushing against his other hand and gasped softly as Jackson took his hand, lacing their fingers together. He was surprised to find Jackson's palm slightly clammy with a sheen of cold sweat.  
  
"I just..." Jackson said softly, swallowing, "I just wished you would throw me a bone, you know? Maybe it's petty, but I wanted to see you make the first move, take the initiative for once to prove that you wanted me as much as I wanted you."  
  
Junior's head felt light, at hearing Jackson saying explicitly that he wanted Junior as much as Junior wanted him.  
  
"I'm sorry," he blurted out inanely. He knew it was useless, but he just felt he had to apologise when he abruptly realised that Jackson was right. He had been less than upfront about his feelings, always hiding behind a veneer of impassivity because of his fear of rejection. He wished he could tell Jackson it was because he was so desperately _important_ , because Junior was so terrifyingly in love with him that he had been unable to take the risk. He had always been a person who fell in love easily, and fell out of love just as easily. His crushes were shallow and fleeting and he was relieved to be able to get over most ex-boyfriends and move on quickly. But this, this was something different. It was something he had never experienced before. And he had had a feeling that if he got rejected by Jackson, it was something he would never be able to recover from. His heart would be broken in a way that couldn't be cured.  
  
He gazed at Jackson plaintively, frustratingly unable to find the words to say this, even though Jackson was baring his own heart. But Jackson only shook his head, pushing away Junior's apology gently.  
  
Instead, Junior only managed to say softly, "I didn't know... you were waiting for me. I didn't know I was hurting you because you always smiled like you didn't have a care in the world."  
  
Jackson tilted his head and smiled at him, his omnipresent charming and laidback smile, but this close, Junior saw for the first time the tinge of wistfulness and rue in it.  
  
"I know it's hard to believe because I'm always clowning around, but I have feelings too," he joked, fingers shifting over Junior's to find a more comfortable grip. "I've never waited for anybody this long... fallen for somebody so frustrating... until you." His voice held only wonder and no reproach. Junior's heart tightened.  
  
"I liked you since the first day," he blurted out, knowing that these weren't the words he should be giving Jackson, but they were the only ones he could bring himself to say. Jackson looked up, eyes stricken with surprise.  
  
"Are you telling me... you fell for me at first sight?" His hand tightened around Junior's fingers and Junior could feel his pulse picking up in his wrist.  
  
He blushed and nodded, looking down from Jackson's piercing eyes.  
  
"Then why did you say you wanted to move out?" Jackson demanded, his other hand rising to take Junior's chin and force him to look up again and meet his intent gaze.  
  
Junior stifled a gasp at the proximity of their faces, Jackson tipping his face up as if he was about to lean forward and capture his lips in a kiss.  
  
"I..." he struggled to concentrate and answer coherently, keeping his eyes from flickering down to Jackson's plush lips. "It was too painful... living with you and being just friends."  
  
Jackson breathed a laugh, seeming speechless. "Damn, we wasted so much time being idiots," he eventually managed to mutter, sounding as regretful as Junior felt. Up close, Junior could see clearly the relief spelled across his face, and felt his own heart plummeting too as he thought of what he would have done had Jackson not reciprocated his feelings. He couldn't imagine how empty he would feel, how devastated. He thought of how Jackson had said that he had panicked because of Junior's thoughtless question, how Mark had said Jackson only drank when he was really upset, and felt another pang of guilt. Jackson had put himself out there so many times for him, but he had never made even one sacrifice for Jackson. What right did he have to love Jackson, to be loved by him?  
  
Even now, Jackson was making Junior feel unworthy, just by the gentleness in his eyes, the wonder and marvelment and worship as he mused quietly, "It was just that... you're so smart and sophisticated and shit." He blushed. "While I'm uneducated and bumbling and uncouth... I thought you deserved somebody who could hold a conversation with you, somebody taller and more handsome and witty than me. I didn't know if you'd consider... a potato like me."  
  
He looked down uncertainly, and Junior's chest clenched at his unexpected outpouring of honesty. He had no idea that Jackson felt so lacking, because Junior always saw him as nothing less than perfect. And it made his heart ache to hear that he had made Jackson feel so small, when his presence had been so big inside Junior, larger than life.  
  
And he realised, with no ceremony -- that although Jackson wasn't anything like a textbook K-drama hero; although theirs was in no way a storybook romance, every single day since they met, Jackson had still swept him breathlessly off his feet. Jackson wasn't tall, dark and mysterious; he was loud and goofy and as subtle as a brick in the face -- but somewhere along the way when Junior was unaware, he had barged into Junior's heart with his atrocious smile and offensive good looks, giving Junior a destination, giving his life direction. Before he met Jackson, he had been aimless like a piece of driftwood bobbing around the ocean. It was meeting Jackson that had given his life meaning and purpose.  
  
  
  
"What do you like about me?" he asked. Although he hadn't said anything significant or substantial, Jackson seemed to have grown more confident, his hand now smooth and dry and warm in Junior's, no longer slick with nervous sweat. Junior had given him so little, and yet to Jackson, it had been enough. He wondered if he would ever be able to be as generous and big-hearted as Jackson, as undemanding and easily pleased.  
  
He was smug to see Jackson colour at his direct question. But he didn't reply, instead dodging the topic cryptically. "Why?" he teased. "Are you fishing for compliments?"  
  
In an instant, he had effortlessly turned the tables and now Junior was the one whose cheeks were burning. He dropped his eyes to the ground at Jackson's playful smirk.  
  
"It's just... I'm not a girl, you know." The words slipped from his lips inadvertently, and he didn't realise till then that he was still nursing a preoccupation, a niggling insecurity. He wasn't sure that Jackson was seeing him as who he was, and not some romanticized ideal.  
In the silence that followed, his heart hammered in his throat. But then he was surprised to hear Jackson snort.  
  
His voice was unexpectedly kind when he spoke up, though. "Jinyoung," he said reproachfully, "I'm not blind, okay? You're nothing like a girl."  
  
Junior wasn't sure how to interpret the words. He felt vaguely like he should be insulted, but he wasn't.  
  
Jackson continued, grumbling, "I used to like big tits and S-lines. What have you done to me?" Junior couldn't help rolling his eyes at how he just _had_ to ruin a romantic moment with his usual crass uncivilized behavior.  
  
He jabbed a finger in Jackson's chest, half-playful, half-chiding. "It's not too late to back out," he reminded him snarkily.  
  
But he was caught off guard by a strong hand closing over the small of his back, an arm winding around his waist as Jackson pulled him forward bodily, closing the distance between them. His eyes were gleaming like they had stolen the light of all the stars in the sky behind him.  
  
Jackson raised an eyebrow, his voice lowering. "I'm not backing out," he said with a glint of challenge. "Are you?" His lips hovered over Junior's, a breath away. Junior thought he would smell like alcohol fumes and cigarettes, but he didn't. With his face an inch away from Junior's, Jackson looked startlingly different from how he had imagined. He looked more attractive and more achingly beautiful than any fantasy Junior's imagination could ever have conjured up, his lids falling seductively to half-mast, eyes blazing.  
  
The word _No_ was barely out of his mouth before Jackson had swallowed it and his next breath with his lips, clumsy and tentative and trembling on Junior's at first, then heavier and hungrier with an intensifying want. Cool and chapped at first, then quickly becoming hot and wet. Jackson shoved his tongue against the line of Junior's lips and Junior instinctively parted them, panting. Jackson thrust his tongue into his mouth eagerly and their noses bumped. They both tilted their heads, teeth clacking awkwardly and Jackson laughed a little against his mouth, breathily and nervously, but it turned into a strangled noise when Junior grabbed the back of his head with both hands and held him still.  
  
He had guessed correctly, that day so long ago -- Jackson kissed the way he worked and did everything, seemingly sloppy and careless, but actually serious, careful and passionate. He enthusiastically deepened the kiss, his own hands rising to cradle Junior's ears, thumbs massaging his earlobes in a way that made him want to moan shamelessly into Jackson's mouth. Instead, he boldly grinded his pelvis against Jackson, blood rushing to his groin to feel the unmistakable hardness of Jackson's growing erection. He had been dreaming of Jackson's dick for so long, he couldn't believe he finally had a license to touch it freely. In response, Jackson pushed his back against the wall without breaking the connection of their lips, and shoved a knee up between Junior's legs, grinding it against his crotch. They both gasped at the same time as he felt Junior's hardening cock.  
  
Threaded between his fingers, Jackson's hair felt surprisingly silken and softer than he had imagined. He had expected it to be dry and strawlike from all the bleaching, but just like his lips melting pliantly against Junior's, giving and generous, everything about Jackson was softer than he had expected, less macho and overbearing. His little breathy moans and cute tiny hitches of breaths; the way he took small sips of Junior's lips, nipping and biting gently like a kitten -- everything made Junior want to protect him, to take care of him forever. He tasted like alcohol and a faint undercurrent of nicotine, yes, but mostly like peppermint and cinnamon and gingerbread and all the things so sweet that Junior thought he might get cavities.  
  
The kiss started out searching but turned deep and shaking as their breaths shortened, lungs emptying and they both panted harshly against each other's lips but still refused to break off for air. Their noses smushed together as Jackson sucked on the tip of Junior's tongue, then caught his upper lip between his teeth gently. They were probably exchanging way too much saliva for the kiss to cross the line from sexy to slobbery, trailing out of the corners of their mouths and threading between their lips. But the unabashed and sloppy lewdness only seemed to turn Jackson on more as he crushed their lips together with a force that knocked Junior's glasses askew.  
  
Junior wanted to mesh his lips without finesse or skill against Jackson's own demanding ones for the rest of his life, to make up for all the time they had lost being stupid and stubborn and childish. Jackson's hands had grown frisky as well, one of them sliding down Junior's face over his neck and down his torso towards the hem of his uniform shirt which had come untucked. Jackson slid his hand underneath, splaying it against Junior's abdomen where it felt feverish against his cool skin. He played his fingers over Junior's happy trail, moving down to graze the waistband of his jeans and making Junior whine against his lips and his breaths shorten dangerously further.  
  
Finally, he broke apart partially out of the necessity for oxygen and partially to tear himself away from Jackson's wandering hand. Jackson made a noise of loud protest, his eyes dazed and glassy once again as he chased after Junior's lips desperately, lips falling on his jaw instead when Junior moved his mouth away. Jackson didn't seem discouraged, his lashes fluttering as he moved his lips down, pressing baby kisses in a sloppy trail down Junior's neck over his Adam's apple, then deftly undoing his bowtie and pushing his collar open to latch onto his neck. Junior let out a half-gasp, half-moan as he felt with a pang of pleasurable pain Jackson sucking a mark gently beneath his clavicle.  
  
He detached his lips reluctantly with a pop as Junior pushed him away with little strength, his legs trembling like rubber beneath him. Jackson wantonly grinded his cock against Junior's thigh, practically humping his leg. He thought he might be about to combust, right here in the alley at work.  
  
When he thought of the word _work_ , he immediately stiffened up, shoving Jackson physically off his body and bringing his wrist up to check his watch with panic. Relief flooded him to see that they had overshot the twenty minutes Mark had given them, but only by five. Still, it was highly likely that Mark or JB or someone else would open the door and pop their head out to see how they were doing at any time. The illicit thrill of the possibility of being discovered sent a chill down his spine.  
  
Jackson was still draping himself heavily all over him like a clingy koala to an eucalyptus tree, breathing heavily as he nuzzled his face into Junior's neck and clumsily undid the first button of his uniform. Junior gasped and pushed him away with more force. "We have to get back to work!" he panted urgently, voice cracking embarrassingly. Jackson only smirked lazily at him with those drowsy eyes and caged him playfully between his arms, but his gaze was heartstoppingly tender.  
  
"Junior," he breathed, voice husky and breathless too, then with hushed awe, "Jinyoung."  
  
Junior blushed and resolutely avoided his disrobing gaze, fingers shaking uncontrollably as he tried to button up his shirt but failed pathetically. Jackson laughed and his face burned, but he was unsettled to find Jackson's hands coming up over his to pry them gently off the collar and take their place. Jackson's fingers were trembling too but less, steady enough to fix the button again. He reluctantly helped Junior secure his bowtie back on, hands lingering longingly. Self-consciously, Junior raised his hand to feel the spot where the hickey burned softly beneath the fabric, furious at Jackson.  
  
He raised his eyes to glare at Jackson, but felt a familiar prickling behind their backs instead. He swallowed hard, blinking rapidly and groaning inwardly, but his emotions were just so thrown out of balance right now, all over the place, and he felt so undone, unstable, such a complete and utter wreck that he had no idea how to hide what had just happened from the rest of the staff.  
  
"Hey," Jackson said softly, voice low with concern. His thumb came up to brush Junior's lower lash line and Junior flinched away instinctively, regretting it when Jackson looked hurt and dropped his hand.  
  
"Don't get weird on me." His voice was teasing, but with a hint of worry, eyes warm with tender exasperation.  
  
Junior sniffled and shoved him away, too overwhelmed with emotion to face him so closely. Jackson's cheeks were flushed and his hair was a mess, his uniform creased hopelessly and shirttails falling out but Junior hoped they could pass it off as his intoxication. If he reached out to help Jackson fix it, he didn't trust himself to be able to tear his hands away again. He ran a nervous hand through his own hair and bit his lips as he noticed how reddened and swollen Jackson's were. Suddenly, footsteps rang out behind the door. Junior tore his eyes away from Jackson's adoringly dark orbs breathlessly as the door flung open to reveal an unsuspecting JB.  
  
  
  
"Gyeommie, is the sexual tension gone?" Bambam called out exaggeratedly when they reentered the cafe sheepishly. "Is it safe to come out now?"  
  
Yugyeom pretended to sniff the air, waving his hand and replied him loudly with equal devilishness, "I'm not sure, Bamster! Better wait a while to be safe!" They smirked at each other and exchanged a high five through the food collection window.  
  
Five minutes before, as JB was returning to the kitchen, he had remarked dryly to Jackson, "You look rejuvenated." He had turned to Junior with a sarcastically raised eyebrow. "Did you finally agree to let him to bang you?"  
  
Jackson had socked him on the arm promptly, so hard that JB let out a surprised and hurt yelp of pain. Jackson barged between him and Junior unapologetically and clamped his arm around Junior's shoulders, steering him away and into the cafe. Junior's face was on fire, and only burned hotter when Jackson's fingers possessively and smugly rubbed the spot of his shirt over the hickey.  
  
Now, looking enraged, Jackson lifted a glass threateningly from the bar. Yugyeom and Bambam only continued snickering but Junior anxiously tried to catch his eye because Jackson's face looked alarmingly red like a volcano about to erupt and he knew Jackson was still unstable enough now that he wouldn't put it past him to throw that glass on impulse and end up hurting somebody to hide his embarrassment. Thankfully, he managed to catch Jackson's eye and pleaded with him mutely to put down the glass. He sagged with relief when Jackson slowly lowered his hand, face still flaming and returning to his tasks. Junior shot the younger boys a miffed and warning glare and they wisely took the hint and stopped laughing at last. He went back to his own work but predictably, for the rest of the night, he wasn't able to concentrate on a single thing.  
  
  
x  
  
  
They spent the rest of the night indulging in sweet kisses and languid embraces, taking small pecks at each other's lips like they had all the time in the world. Occasionally, they would talk about random topics in soft, lazy voices, so quiet only they could hear each other. Their voices were still rusty from overuse, their bodies sore in the most blissful way. They cuddled and spooned on the couch in the storage room, Mark playing the role of little spoon as JB cradled him in his lap, running his hands up and down his slender body occasionally and proprietarily, even though there was plenty of space on the couch. He felt marvelously post-coital.  
  
But when Mark let out a contented snuffle and shifted decadently in his lap, JB couldn't hide the slight grunt of pain that slipped from his mouth when his sore ass chafed against the rickety, broken springs of the couch. Mark immediately turned to him, his eyes tightening with concern as he clumsily climbed out of JB's lap.  
  
"Are you okay?" he whispered urgently, eyes combing JB's body, and JB laughed in embarrassment.  
  
He waved a hand. "I'm fine!" but Mark looked upset. He refused to get into JB's lap again, no matter how much JB whined and pouted and even stooped to doing _aegyo_.  
  
"I'm not going to sit on you again, for God's sake," Mark snapped furiously, and JB's face must have crumpled because he hastily amended, softening his voice, "But you can sit in my lap."  
  
JB blushed in surprised at his bold proposition and Mark's face relaxed into a playful smile at his bashfulness.  
  
"Come on," he said invitingly as he sat down beside JB again, patting his thighs expectantly. JB swallowed and hesitantly got to his feet, then sat down on Mark's knees. Mark wrapped his hands around his waist and pulled him further back, till JB's ass pressed against his crotch. JB felt his body stiffen up in embarrassment but Mark notched his chin affectionately over his shoulder and pressed his lips reassuringly against the side of JB's neck until he relaxed and curled up in Mark's embrace. He had expected Mark's body to feel bony and angular but it was surprisingly softer and a lot more comfortable than the hard couch.  
  
But knowing how brittle Mark was, JB still didn't dare to apply his full weight, placing his feet on the floor to take some of his bulk off Mark's frame. He was taken by surprise when Mark slid his arms beneath JB's knees and around his back, smoothly sweeping him up off the ground a little and firmly into his lap, placing his feet on the end of the couch. JB blushed as he looked up into Mark's amused eyes, which glinted down mischievously at him.  
  
"I'm not as weak as you think, you know," he teased, voice deep, and JB's face burned hotter. Of course, he now knew better than anyone the extent of Mark's strength.  
  
Mark's gaze turned tender, running down his body softly. "Does it still hurt?" he asked solicitously, hand moving down the small of JB's back and hovering over his ass.  
  
JB quickly straightened up from the awkward pose, still perching in Mark's lap but no longer craning his head to look up at him. He could feel Mark's breath tickling his ear as he nuzzled gently into JB's hair, inhaling. "You smell so good," he whispered, and JB coughed because he probably smelled like sweat and sex.  
  
He shook his head unconvincingly. "It doesn't hurt at all," he lied, but Mark didn't seem to believe him, running careful hands down his body in quiet apology. JB shuddered, but thankfully felt too blissed out to feel more than a flicker of interest in his groin. He couldn't believe he had come four times tonight. He had never come so many times in succession in his life, and it had definitely been worth the two years worth of abstinence, the long sentence he spent waiting for what and who he now knew he had been waiting for. It was an understatement to say that he had just had the best sex of his life. He felt reborn, invincible, and utterly at peace with the world. But secretly, the thing that made him the happiest and proudest of was that he had been able to take away the wistful sorrow from Mark's eyes and replace it with a quiet contentment that looked like happiness.  
  
  
  
His eyelashes fluttered sleepily, and he was surprised and shy when Mark noticed. "You must be tired," he whispered, voice rumbling in JB's ear. "Get some sleep."  
  
JB yawned sleepily, aware with a tingle of pleasure of Mark's eyes following the movement of his fist to his eyes with a fond gleam. "But I want to see the sunrise," he whined, and Mark's arms wrapped tighter around him, his warm laughter tickling JB's skin.  
  
"I'll wake you up," he promise. "Now go to sleep, my cute Jaebummie." He brushed the softest of kisses against JB's cheek.  
  
JB couldn't believe Mark had just called him that. He decided it must've been a figment of his imagination as his eyelids grew heavier and drooped. He nodded off counting Mark's eyelashes as if they were sheep, falling asleep in Mark's arms. Up close, Mark's skin looked even more unblemished and flawless, like perfectly whipped cream. His face glowed, seeming lit from the inside. The last thing he remembered thinking was that Mark's body wasn't like the girls he had been with, soft and curvy. In contrast, his chest was harder and more bony, but JB wondered why he felt more comfortable and safer in Mark's arms than he had in any other person's in the world, and managed to sleep fastest.  
  
  
  
He blinked open his eyes to Mark gently nudging him awake, and his breath hitched in his chest as two things hit him at the same time: firstly, that the sun was beginning to rise outside the window of the storage room, a swirling pastel landscape of lavender and pink; and secondly, that he had slept with Mark for the first time the previous night. The happiness he felt was so gut-wrenching that for a moment he forgot how to breathe.  
  
Then Mark smiled down at him, eyes drowsy, and he remembered how. "Good morning, sunshine," he murmured, grazing his lips over JB's earlobe and nipping it a little, teeth tugging at his earring playfully.  
  
JB squirmed with shy, sleepy pleasure swelling in his gut and Mark shifted his legs a little beneath his weight. His arms were still wound loosely around his body, his hands locked around JB's stomach. He was pretty sure Mark's legs must have fallen asleep from being sat on by him all night, and quickly tried to get off him, but Mark whined softly in protest and didn't let him out of the circle of his arms. He buried his face against JB's shoulder blade and inhaled deeply, as if he couldn't get enough of JB.  
  
JB sternly turned around, craning his neck to face him. "Let me go, hyung," he ordered.  
  
"Don't wanna," Mark whined again, petulantly. It was excruciatingly adorable for some reason and JB tried not to waver.  
  
He affected a no-nonsense tone. "I'm not in pain anymore. If you want, you can sit on my lap. But I'm not sitting on yours."  
  
He expected Mark to refuse stubbornly again, not predicting that he would meekly give in this time.  
  
"Fine," he huffed, and JB realised his legs must really be suffering pins and needles when he slowly got to his feet and stumbled a little. JB hurriedly caught him and gently pulled him back into his lap, where Mark finally sighed in relief and comfort but JB could feel him being careful not to rest his full weight on JB's crotch.  
  
A contented exhale slipped quietly from Mark's lips as JB wrapped gentle arms around his waist and pulled Mark's body back against his. It felt more right like that, because of their difference in size, but he knew Mark would beg to differ. And JB realised that was what he had come to love most about Mark -- how his fragile exterior belied his inner strength, how he was so much more than how he looked outwardly; so much tougher, so much more beautiful. And the breadth of heart and depth of soul that he revealed to JB every day never ceased to amaze him and take his breath away.  
  
  
  
As they watched the sunrise in sleepy and companionable silence, Mark's stubble chafed scratchily against his cheek. He knew he probably looked more than a little disheveled and needed a shave too, though they had wiped each other off, pulled their shirts back on and zipped up their jeans last night, tidying themselves as best they could. The kitchen was still a mess but they had been too exhausted to do more than throw their clothes on haphazardly.  
  
Now, JB fondly recalled Mark rearing over him last night, godlike and domineering, unable to reconcile him to the Mark now curling up rumpled and pliant in his arms, his shirt inside out, eyes tired but happy in the kind light of morning. The only thing that convinced him last night wasn't a dream was the lingering scent of his own cum on Mark's skin.  
  
Today, Mark just looked like a regular guy. Just the regular guy JB was agonizingly and devastatingly in love with.  
  
He thought with wonder about how they hadn't met in either of their homelands, but instead halfway between. It was hard not to wonder whether they would have met, if both of them hadn't stepped out of their countries and travelled out of Asia, circumnavigating the globe to meet each other an ocean away from where they started. He wondered why somehow, he felt confident that they would have, anyway. There was something about Mark's presence that was so steady, reassuring. JB had always loved how reliable he was, his quiet steadfastness and unassuming solidity.  
  
When he first met Mark, JB hadn't expected anything from him. He certainly had not expected that one day, he would be willing to go to the ends of the earth for him. But Mark had cured him of his homesickness, melting the icicles in his heart with his unnoticeable but irresistible warmth.  
  
At first glance, he had assumed they were similar in a lot of ways. And they were. But JB realised with surprise that the saying opposites attract applied to them very much as well. He thought of Mark's quiet intensity, his thoughtful silences and his rare, precious smiles. JB had hesitated for so long, pushed his feelings down for so long, because he knew that workplace romances and falling in love with colleagues would almost always end in disaster and heartbreak. He had been unwilling to risk his job, but now he realised that what he had been unwilling to risk was this place beside Mark, this place by his side where Mark had entreated him to stay.  
  
Because separate from his identity as a celebrated pastry chef, JB had fallen for Mark as a human being, as a person, as a man. As Mark himself, this fascinating paradox of half-angel, half-devil, delicate and steely in equal measure. JB had never met a person as dazzling as him.  
  
  
  
He idly carded his fingers through the silky, shiny strands of Mark's brown hair, which had been blond when they first met, crowning his head like a halo of light. Enough time had passed that all the roots had grown out and now the blond had disappeared without a trace, replaced by this more subtle chestnut shade. But no matter what colour his hair was, Mark always looked equally beautiful to JB. It was his awkwardness, his shy innocence that gave him that air of angelic purity.  
  
He had thought he had found paradise last night, but now he realised that he had been inhabiting it since long ago. Sometime in the last three years, this unremarkable kitchen, these four white walls, had become paradise to him, simply because of Mark's presence beside him. And JB never wanted to leave. If there was such a thing as forever, he wanted this to be his.  
  
"Penny for your thoughts," Mark whispered softly to him, smiling cheekily. JB came back down to earth, his heart skipping a beat at the almost fully risen crimson orb of the sun in the robin's egg blue sky reflected in Mark's hazel irises. Backlit by the morning light, he looked winged by light, ready for flight.  
  
"I was just thinking... of how much I love you," JB replied truthfully, making himself gaze deeply into Mark's eyes as he said the words. He felt satisfaction wash over him when Mark's face flushed with dusky pink.  
  
"What a coincidence," Mark said, voice caressing. "Me too."  
  
  
  
After reclining lazily for a few more minutes in JB's lap, Mark yawned infectiously and checked his watch reluctantly. "The others will be coming soon," he grumbled halfheartedly, stretching, and JB groaned unwillingly too. All he wanted was to lounge on this sofa with Mark for the rest of the day. If only they could lock the rest of the world out and just indulge in each other, he would.  
  
He let out an uncontrollable giggle as Mark stood up groggily. "Your shirt is inside out," he told him.  
  
Mark looked down in surprise, then blushed. "Oh... thanks for telling me."  
  
With a careless grace that made JB's throat dry up as he watched him, Mark pulled his shirt up over his shoulders and flipped it the right side around. As he was about to pull it on again, JB caught a glimpse of a glint of silver hanging around his neck.  
  
"What's that?" he frowned. He hadn't seen Mark wearing any jewelry last night except for his earrings.  
  
Mark looked sheepish as his hand rose to cover the chrome dog-tag necklace hanging from a long thin chain and he avoided JB's eyes guiltily. "It's nothing... just something Jackson gave me for my twenty-second birthday."  
  
At Mark's words, JB abruptly felt a stab of breathtaking, bewildering jealousy flare up violently in him. Maybe it was because of Mark's furtiveness, how he had gone out of his way to hide it from JB the previous night. That showed that it meant something important to him. And at the thought of Mark wearing something from Jackson, who JB couldn't stand when he was being his usual obnoxious self and rarely got along with even on the best of days; Jackson who had a history he knew nothing about with Mark, who had known Mark even back when they were twenty-two; JB's mind saw red.  
  
"Why did you take it off last night if it was nothing?" he said calmly, but from the way Mark's eyes widened he realised he sounded more frightening than he intended.  
  
"I..." Mark swallowed uneasily. "I thought you wouldn't like to see it."  
  
"Then why did you let me see it today?" JB shot back unforgivingly. He knew he was being unreasonable, sounding petty and juvenile. But he just felt inexplicably sour at the thought of Jackson somehow managing to intrude on such an intimate and otherwise flawless moment between both of them, insinuate his unwanted presence.  
  
He had never been able to admit to himself but now he was aware that he had always felt vaguely threatened by the fact that Jackson and Mark were high school friends, best friends, both Chinese and similar in so many ways. He was jealous of the way Mark always seemed to favour Jackson, to dote on him and show him affection while Jackson was able to make him smile and laugh in a way no one else could. He was jealous of their inside jokes and the way they could complete each other's sentences, while Mark remained very much a mystery to him.  
  
"Jaebum," Mark said slowly now, studying him closely. "Are you jealous?" He looked surprised by JB's rare show of displeasure.  
JB flushed at being so transparent. He set his jaw and didn't reply, looking away.  
  
Mark placed a tentative hand on his shoulder. "Jaebum-ah," he said, voice gentle and slightly amused. "Jackson's my best friend."  
  
"I thought you said I was your best friend," JB snapped, but didn't shrug off his hand.  
  
Mark looked confused. "I did?"  
  
"Yeah! That time at the beach!" JB's voice sounded unnaturally shrill and he cleared his throat in embarrassment.  
  
Mark knit his brows. "Um... I didn't. You said I was your best friend when I asked."  
  
Upon searching his memory, JB realised that this was true. He flushed twice as furiously in embarrassment, and did shrug off Mark's hand now.  
  
"So you wanted to be my best friend, but I'm not yours?" he demanded, sounding like a green-eyed toddler.  
  
"JB..." Mark looked pained. "I didn't mean it that way. You're my best friend too."  
  
"Forget it," JB huffed ungraciously. "I don't want to be."  
  
Smoothly, Mark slid a hand around the nape of his neck, caressing it persuasively. "You're more than my best friend," he whispered appealingly. "You're my boyfriend."  
  
Despite himself, JB felt a thrill run down his spine at the love palpable in Mark's voice.  
  
Mark continued rubbing the knob at the back of his neck soothingly when he didn't reply. "Forgive me, babe?" he said huskily, and JB's breath caught in his throat at the playful tenderness of Mark's voice, his carelessly possessive touch.  
  
In a flash, he was on his feet, towering over Mark, who took a surprised step back, the shirt still hanging from his hand. JB let his eyes skate insolently down Mark's bare torso, till he saw red creeping up Mark's neck deliciously. Mark squirmed slightly and tried to pull on his shirt, but JB stopped his arm with a hand. Mark's eyes darkened with fear and lust as JB leaned closer, lowering his mouth to Mark's collarbone without any idea of what he was going to do. But when his lips came into contact with the porcelain silk of Mark's skin, they had a mind of their own.  
  
Mark gasped loudly, throwing his head back and arching his back with pleasure as JB carefully sucked a slow and painful hickey into his shoulder. He had a good mind to leave one on Mark's neck, but had the presence of mind to be considerate enough not to cause Mark embarrassment and awkwardness in front of the other staff. Besides, he didn't want them to see Mark debauched like that (especially Jackson), the red of his hickey stark and erotic against his pale skin, for his own selfish reasons. Lilac veins stood out against the column of Mark's pale neck as he shivered in JB's arms. JB took advantage of his momentary weakness to reach up with one hand and lift the necklace brusquely over Mark's head. He shoved it into his pocket. "I'm confiscating this," he said, voice hoarse and gravelly.  
  
Mark's eyes looked dazed and dilated, flustered in a way JB had never seen him before. He realised that perhaps Mark's clavicles was a sensitive spot. It was a topic worth exploring... he thought with interest, surveying with approval the way the milky white of Mark's skin contrasted prettily with pink.  
  
Mark closed his hand over the hickey in dismay after he had regained control of his breathing and his eyes had refocused. He winced, glaring at JB but he looked about as fierce as a kitten. "Why did you do this?" he demanded, sounding shaken.  
  
"Because I wanted to," JB replied impertinently, affecting his douche voice.  
  
Mark looked taken aback for an instant, before he burst into a surprised peal of laughter. He looked a little miffed and still stunned as he regained his composure, but mostly amused and pleased by JB's possessiveness. He held out a hand. "Give it back to me. I won't wear it anymore if you don't want me to."  
  
JB pressed his lips into an annoyed line. "No." Mark frowned for a moment before his face relaxed into amusement again.  
  
"Sure," he said in a breathy voice that went straight down to JB's dick. He fluttered his eyelashes. "Whatever makes you happy, Jaebummie."  
  
  
  
_I will never, ever leave you_ , JB suddenly had the urge to say as he watched Mark, eyes now serious again as he quickly and efficiently cleaned up the mess they had made of the kitchen as JB sat on the stool and watched, feeling spoiled and decadent. _Not for all the money in the world_. Because now, it was official. He felt such an unspoken but unbreakable allegiance bonding him to Mark and nothing and no one could ever induce JB to leave him, even if they offered him millions.  
  
He had expressly forbidden JB to help him with the cleaning, still looking apologetic and seeming to be under the impression that he had handled JB too roughly the previous night, which was absolutely untrue. Everything about last night had been perfect and amazing to JB, and he was already missing it and wondering when their next time would be. He was down for a reenaction tonight, but knowing Mark, he would probably insist JB rest at least a few days or something ludicrous like that.  
  
Even from how differently from other people he had acted when he found JB jerking off with his sweatshirt, he had known that Mark was the sort of person who would take on all the blame for the people he loved, attributing all the faults to himself. But every day, Mark still continued to astonish JB with his capacity for gentleness. Now, thinking about his exasperating stubbornness and overprotectiveness made JB pout unconsciously and grumpily.  
  
  
  
After Mark had restored the kitchen to a semblance of its original neat and spotless state, looking nervous and as guilty as JB felt as he scoured and scrubbed at the area of the counter they had fucked on with more force than necessary with a steel sponge, he heaved a sigh of relief and dragged the trash out of the back door. When he came back, he frowned to see JB had stood up and was opening the dishwasher to take out the trays that they had dislodged.  
  
"Sit down," he intoned, steering JB back to the chair and pushing him down with both hands on his shoulders. He went to the sink and splashed some water on his face, which looked tired with shadows under his eyes and his skin damp with the sheen of sweat he had worked up mopping the floor. He dried his face on the sleeve of his shirt and headed out to the bar. JB guessed from the noises which drifted in that he was fumbling clumsily with the espresso machine, trying to brew two cups of coffee.  
  
JB smiled at Mark's well-meaning klutziness. The fragrant aroma of the fresh batch of chocolate chip muffins baking in the oven reminded JB of how he was so efficient in some ways, and yet hopelessly inefficient in others. They had originally wanted to bake the exact same muffins to replace Junior's, but they didn't have enough blueberries and Junior sometimes put his own spin on the recipe they couldn't imitate so Mark had improvised with their current options and hope that Junior wouldn't notice.  
  
Mark bustled in with two cups of coffee finally after ten minutes, smiling as he handed one to JB. "Careful, it's hot."  
  
"Thanks, hyung," he said, and Mark smiled. JB felt pampered and indulged, taken care of and surprisingly enjoying being the younger one.  
  
Mark leaned against the counter and they started sipping their coffee in silence. It was too hot and tasted slightly different from Jackson's, but JB was happy because Mark hadn't added milk and sugar, remembering that JB liked his coffee black. "It tastes perfect," he lied, and watched Mark smile and blush with pleasure.  
  
"I know, right?" he joked. "Jackson's got some competition." Though he was referring to the drinks, JB felt another unexpected jab of bitterness, his mind twisting it to mean something more.  
  
Mark didn't seem to notice his silence, eyes moving up to the kitchen clock. "It's getting late," he said. "Get your bag after this. I'll call a cab to send you home."  
  
"Send me home?" JB repeated cluelessly. "Why?"  
  
Mark lowered his cup and gazed at him searchingly, eyes dropping to his lower body with concern. "Take the day off," he said.  
  
"Why?" JB exclaimed again, repetitively. "I don't need to! I don't want to."  
  
Mark regarded him blithely. "I don't think you're understanding me, Jaebum. This is an order."  
  
  
  
They were still arguing about it, halfheartedly and softly, over their second cup of coffee (The exhaustion had hit both of them at about the same time, suddenly and contagiously, and now they were both swallowing huge yawns which kind of blunted the fierceness of their first lover's tiff.) when they heard surprised voices at the back door and the creak of it being pushed open.  
Jackson and Junior ambled noisily into the kitchen, followed closely by the three youngest. "Umm... you guys didn't go home?" Youngjae looked confused.  
  
"Yeah, I thought you stayed over at Mark-hyung's place when we couldn't find you this morning." Junior looked at him, a question in his eyes as they moved between them with a glimmer of comprehension slowly dawning.  
  
JB felt his face heat up slightly, quickly avoiding his eyes and dropping them guiltily to the floor. Thankfully, he heard Mark's voice answering the question for him as he chivalrously came to JB's rescue.  
  
"We were doing inventory," he said, voice remarkably calm, and when JB looked up timidly he nearly choked on his mouthful of coffee as Mark met his eyes and hid a conspiratorial smile behind the rim of his cup.  
  
"All night?" Jackson deadpanned, looking suspiciously between them. JB felt a twinge of smugness, as if he had somehow triumphed over Jackson by having a secret with Mark he didn't know about.  
  
Mark only nodded serenely and set his empty cup down in the sink, looking breezy and unflappable.  
  
A clatter alerted them that the girls had arrived too, together from the apartment they shared. Momo's sharp eyes immediately discerned what had escaped the boys' notice as she took a deep whiff and exclaimed in surprise, "Did you guys do spring cleaning or something? This place smells _sterile_."  
  
Strangely, this was what finally seemed to shake up Mark's composure a little, but he quickly recovered.  
  
"We cleaned up the place a little too since we finished the inventory early," JB invented, impressing himself with his skill at fibbing. He was thankful that the girls seemed to believe them, drifting away with the maknaes to clock in for work as they lost interest.  
  
But both him and Mark were ambushed and stumped when Junior piped up from the corner, "What happened to my muffins?" Jackson quickly moved over to him with a smirk, sensing drama.  
  
"W-what?" Mark stuttered.  
  
Junior had taken a bite of one, looking comically bewildered. "I baked blueberry ones, but these are chocolate chip..."  
  
"How is that possible?" Only JB could detect the tremor in Mark's voice, it was so subtle -- at least, he hoped. "You must have remembered wrongly," Mark continued smoothly.  
  
"Excuse you, Junior has a photographic memory," Jackson butted in snobbily, being his usual extraneous self. Junior didn't say anything, looking torn between not refuting Mark out of respect and the blind trusting faith that Mark would never lie to him.  
  
"I could've sworn..." he murmured uncertainly, but thankfully seemed to be too polite to oppose Mark verbally. JB was heaving a sigh of relief at their narrow escape when Junior blurted out, "No, these aren't mine!"  
  
When JB and Mark looked at him quizzically, he backpedaled and blushed as he mumbled almost inaudibly, "Mine had... hearts on them."  
  
At this, Jackson looked up quickly, his face looking flustered. JB wasn't sure what was going on between them but he didn't want to know or care as Mark seemed both impatient and embarrassed and quickly amended, "Okay, Junior... I confess that we ate your muffins for breakfast, okay? They were just too delicious." He exchanged a glance with JB.  
  
Junior blinked, looking confused but flattered. Jackson was mercifully distracted from tormenting them as he stared at Junior with lovestruck and bedazzled eyes. "Really?" Junior asked shyly. "Aww, hyung, you should've just told me the truth honestly! I wouldn't have minded. I can always bake another batch later."  
  
Mark nodded and mumbled an apology, smiling innocently. Jackson's smile had slipped a little at Junior addressing them both as _hyung_ and he was now back to looking like his usual grumpy self. However, his frown turned into a smile with disturbing rapidity when Junior bashfully lifted his half-eaten muffin to his lips to feed him a bite. JB felt a little like barfing and he was pretty sure it wasn't because Mark had impregnated him and he was suffering morning sickness.  
  
"Oh, the cab is here." Mark placed a hand on JB's shoulder as his phone buzzed. "JB's going home," he explained to Jackson and Junior. "He's wiped out."  
  
JB was relieved that the other staff weren't around to witness his mortified blotchy flush when Jackson drawled with a shit-eating grin, "I wonder why."  
  
Mark shot him a sharp look and said, sounding unamused, "Stop wagging your tongue and get to work, Jackson. You're late." Jackson just stood there, his grin growing while Junior cleared his throat, having the courtesy to keep his face blank.  
  
But later, after JB had left Mark and Junior in the kitchen, he bumped into Jackson in the storage room while going to grab his bag on his way out. "Congrats," he was surprised to hear Jackson hiss to him under his breath as they brushed shoulders. "Now make sure you stay away from my Jinyoung."  
  
  
x  
  
  
The last of the fall blossoms had fallen from the branches of the trees and littered the ground, and Junior spent the first day of early winter sweeping the courtyard of the dormitory.  
  
He picked up a few to press between the pages of his novels to use as bookmarks, but saved the prettiest, pinkest one to bring to work the next day.  
  
Jackson suppressed an impish smile as he tucked it behind his ear, blushing with pleasure at Junior's romantic gesture. "Do I really have to wear it all day?" he groaned in mock dismay, and Junior retorted, answering his question with a question of his own.  
  
"Do you love me?"  
  
Oh yeah, that shut Jackson up real quick.  
  
  
  
Now, Junior found himself grinning from ear to ear again as he bustled around the patisserie, taking orders and plucking his pen from behind his ear to jot them down. This reminded him of the flower behind Jackson's ear and he turned to see if he was still wearing it. His grin broadened to foolish proportions when he saw that he was, looking pretty as a picture. Junior had snapped a quick photograph with his phone before Jackson could protest and changed his homescreen immediately from the selfie they had taken together, the day after they had officially started dating. His eyes were crinkled up ridiculously, looking like the whiskered catlike face in Jackson's Junior latte art while Jackson pressed his own forehead up against his shamelessly with a huge beam as their bangs caught together messily with static. It was a pretty disgusting picture, they both agreed as they raced to set it as their respective home screens.  
  
Since that day, Jackson had started marking his territory uncannily like a dog urinating at the foot of a signpost, doing stuff like slapping Junior's butt when they passed each other at work or sometimes even going as far as to squeeze it, to Junior's shock and outrage. He would jump about a foot in the air, embarrassingly disconcerted, and his pants would magically shrink a size around the crotch area. When he tried to avoid Jackson, it would only make him go out of his way to seek Junior out, stalking him around the bakery like his last name was Cullen.  
  
Mercifully, the sizzling tension between them had seemed to cool off a little with the passage of weeks, and some days Jackson was simply too busy with the bar to creep around after him like a certain sparkly undead. But today, it was Junior's turn to feel possessive as the pretty, young and well-dressed female customer he was taking an order from lowered her voice shyly and asked, blushing, "Excuse me, could you tell me what's that barista's name? He's really cute."  
  
Junior blanched for a second, before remembering to stay professional. He forced a false smile, face feeling like it was cracking. "That's my girlfriend," he heard himself saying, then fell silent with shock.  
  
"Oh! She's... a girl?" The customer sounded so shocked that he felt bad for his lie. "I'm so sorry! I thought it was just a guy clipping the flower in his hair for a joke. I didn't mean to mistake your girlfriend for a guy. She's... really pretty."  
  
The girl seemed like a nice person and he felt worse as he made a garbled noise of forgiveness and walked away with her order, but he couldn't help feeling uncharacteristically selfish and unmagnanimous when it came to people admiring Jackson. _His_ Jackson.  
  
Jackson started as Junior plucked the pink blossom out of his hair when he leaned over the bar to put some drinks down. "Hey!" he looked up in surprise, face pinkening and softening into a coy smile. "I thought you said I had to wear it all day." He looked up flirtatiously through his eyelashes at Junior, biting his lip provocatively.  
  
Junior swore under his breath. "Stop looking like that in public, or I'll jump over the bar and beat your ass," he hissed under his breath.  
  
Jackson inhaled sharply, placing his hand on his chest and recoiling dramatically. "Junior." He sounded scandalized and turned on at the same time. "Do you have a spanking kink you want to tell me about?"  
  
Junior harrumphed and shoved the flower into his pocket, crumpling it. He shot another glance at the female customer, who was looking at them with wide eyes. He panicked as he wondered if she had heard Jackson's loud voice.  
  
He pointed a threatening finger at Jackson. "Don't talk to anyone else during this shift," he commanded, before loading the drinks onto his tray and sweeping away. He could feel the warmth of Jackson's amused gaze burning his back, but surprisngly he obediently didn't call out to Junior.  
  
  
  
As the weather turned slowly and the cold set in, Jackson unearthed the winter uniforms from the storeroom and distributed them to the staff. They were basically just ugly, festively-coloured Christmas sweaters worn over their apron to get the customers in the mood for the year-end holiday season. The only thing Junior was thankful for was the selca he and Jackson snapped together after putting them on, where they looked like they were decked in couple sweaters, albeit ugly ones; and the comforting fact that they didn't need to wear matching Santa hats or something (seriously, he had to wear them at the designer bakery where he used to work).  
  
Along with the refurbishment of the shop, decorating the walls with boughs of holly and fake snowflakes and brass bells, they also unveiled their new seasonal menu specially revamped for a limited period of time. They had been hard at work creating new items in both the kitchen and bar for the last two months, and Junior had had a lot of fun participating in the creative process. Mark had been impressed and praised him for having a lot of potential at coming up with new, inventive and delicious pastries and cakes, interested to discuss installing some of Junior's creations on the menu permanently if they were well-received.  
  
The holiday season meant that people were looser with their pursestrings and more indulgent with their sweet tooth, willing to splurge on gifts of cakes and cookies for their families and friends. The increasing turnout of customers meant that they had less time to flirt or even speak during work, and sometimes hours flew by without Junior getting a chance to say a word to Jackson.  
  
In the initial few weeks after they got together, Junior had discovered the true thrill of workplaces romances. He wasn't unfamiliar to the dangers of starting a relationship with a colleague, the potential awkwardness if it fizzled out and they had to face each other every day, but it was Jackson who taught him the cheap thrills of rushed storeroom kisses and clandestine touches, taught him the meaning of the phrase _eye-fucking_ as he silently but thoroughly fucked Junior across a room full of people with his dark, lustful eyes.  
  
(Yugyeom and Youngjae's disgusted faces and the occasional and unwelcome interruptions of Bambam's trademark "Ewww"s informed him that they weren't exactly good at being lowkey or secretive, but he was, frankly, too in love to care and Jackson didn't seem to give two shits about scarring the maknaes' underage eyes either.)  
  
But it didn't matter that they were too busy to even breathe during the day because at night -- at night, Junior would unfailingly hear a knock on his door and every single time, his heart still leaped out of his throat and onto the ground before him, thrashing and writhing around as he tried to calm himself and rearrange his face before he opened the door to see Jackson standing outside, smiling at him softly in the low light, looking so effortlessly breathtaking with his bare face, unstyled hair, tired eyes and the ratty old sweats he slept in that Junior felt personally attacked.  
  
Jackson would look around to check the corridor was empty before he whispered with his daft grin and sleepy eyes laughing, "I have something for you."  
  
"What?" Junior whispered back, smiling like a dumbass too despite himself.  
  
Jackson reached into the collar of his rumpled sweatshirt, paused for a few seconds to create suspense, then withdrew his hand showily with a flourish. "Ta-da!" he exclaimed, his thumb and index finger crossed together in a fingerheart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jaebum, get well soon :'( the jinson in this chapter is dedicated to my bb periwinkledreams, and the markbum to e. and akira. the line about jackson banging jinyoung was totally inspired by my friend t., who commented in a previous chapter that markbum needed to bang, stat. i passed 100k... idk whether to congratulate or bemoan myself? lol. i wanted to talk about me and commenting in my notes at the end of the fic, but at this rate they will be as long as jackson's d... i mean essays when they won for fly so i decided to just do it on this chapter. i really want to apologise to my group of regular commenters who have been faithfully commenting on every or almost every chapter since the beginning, including those who commented on one or more than one - im sorry i make commenting on my fics into such a tiring thing. i know i can just reply every single comment, no matter how long, with just a "thank you!" but i just feel the ridiculous and inexplicable need to reply every little part of the comment in exhausting detail because i want to let commenters know i value every word of their comment and the time they took to type it. im kind of a perfectionist about my comment replies and i practically put as much thought into them as writing the chapters so like with the fic, it bothers me a bit if i miss out or forget to add something i wanted to say. so i know its weird but i'd rather not reply at all if i can't do it properly and satisfactorily. thats why i still have a bunch of unreplied comments on tea lights (which i really hope to be able to reply someday when i have the time to!) not that im throwing shade at writers who reply their comments with just "thank you" or "thanks for reading", absolutely not, because they probably have the right idea and its probably what most readers would prefer, so they would know the author had received and read their comments. but i DO read and treasure every single comment i've ever received on all my fics, most of the time more than once and sometimes even multiple times. its just a random and silly thing but i thought i would just leave this here to explain my thoughts a little and also hopefully express to my beloved commenters (as well as readers) who have been supporting me from day 1 how much i cherish them even though i haven't been the best at showing it ;;


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is mature.

As the cold got more biting, sometimes Jackson would arrive dragging his pillow and blanket, looking like he was just a sleeping bag short of going camping, and Junior would have no choice but to let him into his room quietly because if any of the others happened to wake up and saw them they would never hear the end of it. But no matter how unwilling and put upon he pretended to look, deep down Junior enjoyed the comfort of a warm body beside him on these frosty nights. It only made it infinitely more perfect that the body was Jackson's.  
  
The first few nights, Jackson had the decency to blush and seem shyly embarrassed as they lay down stiffly next to each other on Junior's bed beneath the covers after he tucked Junior in and pulled them up to his shoulders, side by side with their bodies not touching. But all pretenses at conservative modesty quickly flew out of the window as he would inch closer, his hand creeping to find Junior's and his body pressing up against the side of his as he snuggled with an indulgent sigh against his chest. When Junior responded, winding a tentative arm around his body which was so deliciously warm it felt like a furnace or a hot water bottle, Jackson immediately and enthusiastically draped his leg over the lower half of Junior's body and his arm over the top, squeezing him like a bolster. His head rested on Junior's shoulder, hair tickling his nose when he breathed out.  
  
Jackson smelled clean and boyish, like sleep and soap, but with a slightly dangerous undercurrent of musk. Junior would lie there with his heart pounding like a sledgehammer and move slightly uncomfortably to shift it out from under Jackson's ear because it was deafeningly obvious. He would hold his body rigid with tension like this till he eventually relaxed out of sheer fatigue and dozed off in the small hours of night to Jackson's even, peaceful breathing, heavy with slumber, a dead weight above him. On other nights, Jackson would appropriate Junior's body, laying his head back on Junior's stomach or chest and reclining decadently, using him as a pillow.  
  
But quickly, they became unsatisfied with merely seeking comfort and warmth in each other's bodies. The heat that sizzled and crackled between their skin with a life of its own every time they accidentally touched was undeniable, unignorable and Jackson caved first, predictably impatient as he allowed his hand to rove insolently and presumptously beneath the hem of Junior's long-sleeved shirt, flattening against his stomach as Junior made a strangled noise. Jackson's finger grazed his nipple and his entire body burst into heat, all the nerve ends tingling. He felt like molten lava beneath Jackson's touch, burning himself up, scorching his veins insensate.  
  
But when he shivered, Jackson's eyes darkened with concern as he leaned over Junior, eyes searching his. "You cold, baby?" he whispered, slipping his hand out of Junior's shirt to rub his shoulders with both palms. Junior whimpered softly in shock.  
  
To escape Jackson's dark, intense eyes and hide how good his hands rubbing concentric circles on Junior's upper arms felt, he curled up on his side protectively into himself, his trembling ceasing beneath the soothing rhythm of Jackson's warm hands. He was surprised, after a moment, to feel Jackson fitting his body around his carefully, curling into a comma around Junior. It wasn't the first time he had been someone's little spoon, but it was the first time he had felt so sheltered, so protected and secure and enveloped. He couldn't help letting out a small sigh of contentment, his entire body finally relaxing against Jackson's. He could feel, through the layers of both their clothes, the temperature of Jackson's body and his defined muscles pressing against his back.  
  
He was blinking sleepily, about to drift out of consciousness when Jackson groaned softly.  
  
"Jinyoung," he whispered, voice sounding scratchy. "You're killing me."  
  
When he shifted his body a little to press his thigh against Junior's, he gasped to feel Jackson's semi-erection digging into his ass.  
Instantly wide awake, he tried to scoot away in alarm, but Jackson's arms tightened their lockhold over his body, not letting him go anywhere. He pressed closer against Junior's back.  
  
"I won't do anything," he whispered sleepily, sounding pleading. "Just let me hold you."  
  
Junior felt himself melting and relenting irresistibly. He stopped squirming and let his body yield against Jackson's, fitting together like two puzzle pieces. Inside the nest of both their blankets, completely encompassed in Jackson's embrace, bracketed between the bookends of Jackson and the Rilakkuma doll he had given Junior, he had never felt safer, warmer or more comfortable. He wished they could stay here forever, not moving from this bed, hibernating for the rest of winter.  
  
The next night, Jackson pulled him into the same position and started cuddling him again, and Junior tried to ignore his half-hard cock pressing quietly but unabatingly into his thigh. Jackson seemed to be happy to neglect it, letting it settle down on its own as he fell asleep, and Junior wondered with a pang if he had gone through many similarly frustrating nights caused by Junior. He knew _he_ certainly had.  
  
"Junior," Jackson said in warning, sounding shaken and appalled, rudely jolted out of his descent into sleep when Junior shifted in a deliberate movement, rubbing his ass against Jackson's cock.  
  
Junior stopped, but felt Jackson's body tensing up as he let out a soft groan, detaching his body with difficulty and rolling over onto his side so his back faced Junior. He couldn't see what Jackson was doing but he looked like he was curled up into a tight ball. Junior could hear him trying to get his ragged breathing under control.  
  
Jackson jumped visibly when Junior slipped a tentative hand over his arm. His body stiffened, but relaxed with palpable bliss into Junior's embrace when he wrapped his arms around Jackson, playing the big spoon this time. Jackson fit perfectly into his arms, as Junior fit into his. He was careful not to let his own, more than a little hard dick come into contact with Jackson's ass or things would escalate too quickly.  
  
Jackson let Junior hug him quietly and unresistingly for a while before turning around in his arms to face him, bringing their faces disconcertingly near. Junior inhaled softly at how impossibly beautiful Jackson looked up close, features softened by moonlight, not a single flaw to be found in his face. Jackson's eyes rounded as they gazed hesitantly into his too, as if Junior looked equally breathtaking.  
  
Jackson took a deep breath, and leaned in. Junior instinctively squeezed his eyes shut in nervous anticipation, thinking Jackson was going to kiss him. But to his shock, instead of soft lips on his, he felt fingers finding the sides of his waist and mischievously poking, then starting to tickle him mercilessly.  
  
Junior gasped, shaking with silent laughter and pressing his lips together to be careful not to let any noises escape, but Jackson continued attacking him till Junior had writhed beneath him and they were both panting breathlessly, swallowing their giggles with difficulty. Their limbs were tangled together in the mess of blankets and Jackson was radiating heat above and around him, like his personal sun. He couldn't feel or see Jackson's crotch but from the dilation of his pupils and his intoxicatedly flushed cheeks, Junior could tell with embarrassing clarity how aroused he still was.  
  
Only then did Jackson kiss him, moving in to capture his lips, claim them with that easy presumption and cocky confidence that made Junior blush feverishly, one of his hands coming up to cup Junior's cheek to hold him still and the other sliding up the swell of his ass and coming to rest on his hip. Junior tipped his face up and opened his mouth, panting. Jackson's tongue slid sensually past his lips to meet his, twisting together lustily. The first few times they kissed, his lips had been hesitant and unsure at first, as if afraid Junior would push him away, but once Junior responded they had quickly gained confidence and even arrogance, consuming his with a carnal desire and passion that made Junior's heart nearly stop beating as Jackson stole his oxygen.  
  
And after a few times, when Jackson knew Junior wouldn't rebuff him but respond as eagerly, the nervous uncertainty disppeared to be wholly replaced by that insufferable arrogance that said explicitly even without words that Jackson knew Junior couldn't resist him, couldn't ever say no. He started manhandling and using Junior's body as it it were an extension of his own, a blow-up doll created for his needs. And the worst thing was that Junior couldn't deny it, because it was true.  
  
  
  
They spent the next hour doing heavy petting, fondling and touching each other over and beneath layers of teasing clothes, till in the end the exhaustion won out over the sexual frustration and they dozed off within minutes of each other in the early hours of dawn. Jackson seemed to have the libido of a horny teenage boy and Junior wondered if these were just his natural urges or simply because he had repressed them for too long.  
  
They spent the subsequent nights intensifying their innocent but dangerous touches, exploring each other's bodies with a hungry curiosity. Touching escalated to frotting, which usually degenerated to them basically clinging to each other and rolling around in the cocoon of the covers, trying to find a position which would temporarily relieve the need building in their bodies. Once, Jackson crawled between Junior's legs, underneath the blanket, his hands spreading them wantonly wide and roving beneath his shirt and waistband as he did unspeakable, wildly pleasurable things with his hands and mouth that made Junior writhe in agony and muffle a silent scream with his fist.  
  
They never went all the way, but more and more, came breathlessly close. The frame of Junior's bed was pretty sturdy and not particularly creaky, but it spoke for the force and sloppiness of their escapades that they had to make an effort not only to keep their voices from escaping their mouths, but also keep the bed from creaking.  
  
Sometimes Junior wished he could turn on his kerosene lamp and admire in its fire-orange light the buttery blond of Jackson's hair, the tattoos on his shoulder blade which he had first glimpsed when Jackson was doing push-ups with his shirt off but only now saw them more clearly up close: some Celtic symbols and more faded, a Chinese character. When he asked what they meant Jackson explained that the symbols were the date he had left Paris for America after graduating from hospitality school, while the Chinese character was the word _gǎng_ from _xiang gang_ , which meant Hong Kong in Mandarin. By itself, the word also meant _harbour_ , which Junior felt was oddly fitting for what Jackson had come to symbolise to him -- a safe and quiet place to dock in the midst of all the pandemonium. Jackson explained that he never wanted to forget where he had come from, and the places he had stopped at along the way to reach where he was now.  
  
Junior wanted to trace Jackson's sensuous glutes, the supple muscles of his ass with not just his hands but also his eyes, wanted to see how his shapely lips curved up in slow pleasure as Junior kissed them clumsily. But he knew that if not for the shade of night, the way the dimness emboldened and uninhibited him, he would be too overwhelmed by Jackson's overflowing charisma, his sheer masculinity that was like a physical blow.  
  
Jackson didn't mind letting Junior divest him of his shirt, and helped Junior out of his own as Junior kicked off his sweatpants like it wasn't freezing outside their blanket fort. But he drew the line at taking off his own pants, the furthest Junior managed to push him once when he lost control and ended up thigh-fucking Junior. He had come stickily over the insides of Junior's thighs, while Junior had shuddered to climax as well in his underwear.  
  
Jackson's chest heaved against his as they came down from their high, seeming stunned that they had crossed so many lines, come closer to full-blown, penetrative sex than they ever had before. Junior had expected, been ready for it since the day they confessed to each other, and he was slightly disappointed and slightly confused but also the slightest bit relieved that Jackson seemed to want to take things slowly for some reason. He would've pegged Jackson for the sort who wanted to get into someone's pants the moment he won their heart, who wanted to conquer the bodies of people he loved as soon as he possibly could. But Jackson seemed to be equally lost and without a plan for advancement, as if this was his first time navigating such territory.  
  
When Junior finally lost his last shred of patience and, at crucial moments, begged Jackson to touch him, take him completely, Jackson seemed to lose his bearings for a moment at Junior's frantic and urgent need, but he quickly recovered. They were both talking in hushed whispers, always careful of the thin walls and wishing they were elsewhere, like in Jackson and Mark's apartment with Mark conveniently out of the way. But thankfully his room was in the corner and Yugyeom seemed to be a deep sleeper.  
  
No matter how desperately he begged, Jackson refused to touch him beyond these teasing and insufficient meagre contacts. He would look across the pillow at Junior with a big sloppy grin on his face and shake his head, seeming to enjoy Junior's frustration and lack of self-control. When Junior whined in a whisper, this close to growling, "But why?!" Jackson would reply brattily, "Payback for you being such a fucking tease the last few months." Junior would gnash his teeth together in fury and swear to himself he would never let Jackson touch him again and teach him the feeling of being left high and dry, but then the next night Jackson would burrow into his bed and snake a hand over his chest, stroking questioningly, and Junior would gasp and hurry to turn around without shame.  
  
  
  
But other times, Jackson would creep into his room to find Junior drowsy and warm with sleep, lying on his side and hugging the Rilakkuma body pillow Jackson had given him with his arms and legs flung over it. For some reason the sight seemed to undo Jackson and Junior would blink open his eyes to find him looking pained as he stroked Junior's messy hair with a gentleness that surprised him.  
  
"Jackson-hyung," Junior would nuzzle into his hand and whisper with artful innocence, and Jackson's eyes would predictably melt as he slid in beside Junior, the bed dipping under his weight, and found his body under the covers. "I can't believe I'm jealous of a stuffed toy," he would mutter in disbelief against Junior's shoulder, making him suppress a giddy smile.  
  
On such nights, he could feel Jackson's erections as raging as ever, but he never laid a hand on Junior, instead wrapping his arms around both him and the doll in his arms, keeping him in that position as he pressed against Junior's back, burying his face in his hair so Junior couldn't turn and see his expression. Jackson would only hold him tightly but chastely for the rest of the night till they both fell asleep, sharing body heat till their temperatures evened out and their hearts beat in unison.  
  
At these times they would talk (in whispers only audible to each other, as usual) till they dozed off, indulging in pillow talk till the wee hours of morning. Jackson would ask questions that made him laugh like, "Whose dick is bigger?" or "How tall was he?" about the ex-boyfriend Junior had told him about, though he felt his heart ache a little at how inadequate and insecure Jackson sounded like he felt despite how much he reassured him.  
  
"Yours," he lied in answer to the first question, and reluctantly and vaguely to the second, "Six feet and a few inches." It wasn't like Jackson couldn't guess his ex would be much taller than him, but he seemed to be asking just to torture himself with the answer.  
  
But when Jackson asked seriously, "Am I a rebound?" his arms tightening around Junior so Junior definitely couldn't turn around to catch the expression on his face, Junior felt a lump in his throat.  
  
"Of course not!" he answered quickly, honestly, because how could Jackson even think that? Jackson was far too priceless, too important to be a rebound for anybody and Junior couldn't believe he had even entertained that doubt. He felt profoundly sad thinking that he had done anything to make Jackson wonder about such a question and fell into a pensive silence.  
  
But then Jackson nudged him and Junior's heart lightened and soared to feel the curve of his lips pressed against Junior's neck in a wordless kiss.  
  
"Whose French is sexier?" he didn't expect Jackson to ask cheekily next, following his query by lapsing into rapidfire French half of which Junior didn't even understand, though he had learned some basic phrases. Jackson's voice when he spoke French was low, drawling and sultry, making heat pool in his stomach.  
  
He felt himself smiling too, and was glad Jackson couldn't see his rapidly heating up face. "Yours," he whispered shyly and honestly, and his heart raced faster when Jackson pressed his body gratefully in relief and pleasure against Junior's back, his hipbones digging meaningfully into Junior's asscheeks.  
  
  
  
Kissing Jackson felt like the dreams he sometimes had about falling, when he would find himself stepping into thin air and plunging terrifyingly down a yawning abyss, then jolt awake just in time to find himself safe and secure on the cold hard ground with the mattress behind his back. That was how touching his lips to Jackson felt -- like freefalling, then being caught by a parachute billowing from his shoulders and pulling him up just before he hit the ground and crashed and burned. He couldn't get enough of that element of both perilous danger and unconditional safety Jackson was the only one who gave him.  
  
In the ephemeral, misty light of the moon illuminating the flash of Jackson's white teeth, his dazzling smile and lustrous eyes, his room felt worlds removed from the real world, only inhabited by the two of them, suspended in time. He wanted to freeze those moments in eternity, spend the rest of his life in that single utterly perfect second.  
  
He couldn't believe someone so unutterably beautiful belonged entirely to him, that Jackson was his to have. Because though Jackson once jokingly asked if Junior was an angel sent to reform him, Junior privately felt that if everyone thought Mark was an angel who had fallen to earth, Jackson was an angel in disguise as a devil.  
  
Jackson was so attractively competent in everything he did, so unassumingly steadfast and uncompromisingly individualistic in both his personality and the way he loved. Junior wished he could be as unafraid as him to wear his heart on his sleeve, but he had been fearful of getting his fingers burnt, wanting to protect himself at the expense of hurting Jackson. He had been selfish and cowardly, undeserving of the adoration of someone so much more courageous. And yet, against all odds, here Jackson was before him, a touch away, a single breath, looking like Junior's wildest dreams come true.  
  
  
  
He had warned Junior, right after they started dating, as if he wanted to rid him of any lingering illusions, that he was no gentleman and if Junior was expecting him to be one, he should quickly give up his expectations. Junior had reassured him snidely that he had never held any hopes or been under the illusion that Jackson was a gentleman from day one.  
  
And yet, despite Jackson not being his ideal type in any way, he surprised Junior with his gentleness and manliness, chivalrousness and breadth of heart every day. Jackson's heart was as broad as his shoulders and his smile, and Junior fell more idiotically in infatuation with him every day.  
  
  
  
"Careful not to choke on my cock," Junior warned after Jackson had locked the door of the storage room during their ten-minute break and slammed him against the wall, kissing him viciously and meaningfully before sinking to his knees and mouthing the growing bulge of Junior's crotch through his jeans. He couldn't believe they were doing this at work for the first time, the taboo thrill making his head light. But as time passed and they never got caught kissing in various places at work, they grew bolder and more careless, having the inexplicable urge to mark every part of the bakery they could with a memory of stolen kisses or more.  
  
"Fuck you," Jackson retaliated, remarkably coherent even as he unzipped Junior's jeans with his teeth. His hands deftly unbuttoned him and reached in to cup his cock through his briefs, which were already damp and sticky from the precum leaking from his aching dick. "Shut up or you can suck yourself." Jackson sounded hoarse but no less sassy. He licked the tip of Junior's cock through his briefs, making Junior curse under his breath, "Fuck!" and hit his head painfully against the wall as he threw it back.  
  
"Are you okay?" Jackson looked amused, eyes dark and smouldering as they peered up through his eyelashes. Junior snapped his hips forward, cutting the rest of his sentence off as his clothed cock muzzled Jackson's mouth.  
  
"I'm fine," he gasped with difficulty. "Just get on with it, we don't have time."  
  
Jackson wiped his reddened lips, looking affronted and mischievous. "Okay, hon," he drawled, gripping Junior's hips with both hands to hold him steady. He started exhaling steaming breaths over Junior's cock again, making it leap in the confines of his briefs and leak even more.  
  
He placed his hands behind his head, locking his fingers together as Jackson hooked a thumb into his waistband and lowered his underwear. He clenched his teeth and refused to bury his hands in Jackson's hair even when his dick sprang out, heavy and obscenely flushed and curving with desire, and Jackson smiled ferally and swiped his tongue over the tip. Junior still hadn't forgotten the incident (and many others like it) when the pretty female customer had tried to hit on Jackson and he would rather suffer the agony of being unable to touch Jackson than risk messing up his hair into that sexy post-sex look and making him draw attention again. Jackson was so pretty like this, his long eyelashes fanned against his regal bone structure and his hair falling into his eyes, apples of his cheeks flushed with lust. Junior didn't know what he would do if another man saw how beautiful Jackson could be.  
  
Jackson hummed, seeming to relish taking his time as he slowly took Junior's dick into his mouth, sliding his lips inch by inch over the length and making lewd, laving noises. Junior looked down and his thighs shook unsteadily as he saw Jackson's plump, sinfully red lips stretched around his cock, glistening with his cum, but Jackson held him up with firm fingers digging bruises into his hips. He continued suckling Junior's dick, making a muffled noise which made it jerk between his teeth, which scraped against the sensitive vein pulsing on the underside of his cock. He felt his cum dripping down Jackson's throat, and Jackson swallowed a little, his throat closing over the oversensitized tip of his dick and tightening over the head. It was enough for him to come, uncontrollably thrusting his hips forward in a swift and sudden movement that cut off Jackson's air supply and made him gag over Junior's dick slapping the back of his throat, but he didn't pull off his cock and instead slid his lips further down with difficulty, throat clenching over Junior's stiffening cock and continuing to swallow valiantly as Junior spurted down his throat, panting harshly and raggedly. His entire frame was shaking, wracked by the tremors of his orgasm and he finally brought his hands down to clutch Jackson's shoulders to steady himself.  
  
When he had finished, dick growing limp in Jackson's mouth and post-orgasm numbness stealing over his body, Jackson loosened his lips from Junior's dick and zipped him back in with a tenderness that made his voice catch in his throat. But Jackson was wearing his usual obnoxious grin on his abused and puffy lips as he stood up, licking the traces of Junior's cum from around his mouth. His voice sounded fucked raw when he spoke up -- fucked raw by his dick, Junior thought with a jolt of pride.  
  
"That was fast," Jackson eyed him with an amused quirk of his eyebrow, voice holding a hint of laughter. Junior blushed hotly, the gears of his mind frantically clicking as he thought of how to unsettle Jackson and wipe that insufferable smirk off his face.  
  
He reached out without warning to graze Jackson's dick with a deliberately heavy hand, and smiled smugly at the way Jackson gasped in shock and arousal.  
  
"You seem... excited," he pitched his voice an octave lower, moving closer, and saw Jackson's eyes darken, his blush mirror Junior's.  
He struggled to get his breathing under control before he spoke, sounding raspy. "Help me out... please." His request turned into a plea as Junior palmed his dick through his jeans, squeezing a little.  
  
"Tsk..." he sadistically let his voice grow playful as he brushed his lips against Jackson's ear, nipping at his earring with his teeth. Jackson whined and he swiftly clamped a hand over his mouth as his other hand continued fondling Jackson's growing erection. "Did it turn you on so much to suck me off... _ge_?" he whispered naughtily in Jackson's ear, watching his eyes widen and face redden.  
  
Jackson grabbed his hand roughly and prised his fingers off. Junior could see the red ovals of his fingerprints still pressed faintly into Jackson's fair cheeks and it was one of the most erotic sights he had ever seen.  
  
Junior checked his watch and said with false regret, "Oh my, what shall we do? It's time to get back to work." He knew he shouldn't, but he enjoyed teasing Jackson way too much, watching him blush uncontrollably and helplessly as he bit his lower lip tremulously.  
  
"I fucking hate you," Jackson swore fervently, tremblingly moving his lower body away from Junior's teasing hand, but his voice sounded wrecked and wobbly.  
  
Junior smiled at him, licking his lips with promise. "Don't worry, I'll make it worth your while."  
  
Jackson gave him the finger with a look of disgust and hauled open the door breathlessly, dashing to the bathroom with his hand covering his crotch after checking that the coast was clear. Junior heard a cubicle door slam and he couldn't help wishing longingly that Jackson had invited him inside, but then they would never get back to work for the rest of the day. (It had actually happened before.)  
  
  
  
Being a man of his word, Junior kept his promise that night in his room, when he had sat up in bed, heart pounding upon hearing the doorknob being softly turned to see Jackson filling up his doorway with his powerful frame, making Junior's mouth dry up with the wolfish gleam in his eyes visible even from a distance. Jackson licked his dry lips as he neared Junior's bed, eyes making silent avowals that he would make Junior pay for being a cocktease earlier that day -- but in a few minutes, Junior was the one who had him undone as Jackson sucked in a painful, rattling breath and arched his back, hands tangling greedily in Junior's hair and fingernails scraping across his scalp as Junior bobbed his head enthusiastically over Jackson's lap, cum and saliva dripping from the corners of his full mouth down into the valley of Jackson's spread legs.  
  
He was proud that he had learnt all the tricks to make Jackson come undone, how licking him this way would make him bite back a guttural groan and swirling his tongue that way would make him muffle Cantonese curses against the back of his hand.  
  
"Jinyoung," Jackson's voice started out threatening, but turned desperate and powerless within a span of one word as Junior licked a hot wet stripe down the length of his throbbing dick. "Jinyoung _please_ \--"  
  
Even at the height of their passion, all their conversations at night were always conducted in hushed whispers, never rising above a certain decibel they had wordlessly agreed on. It was a secret they had silently committed to keep, unwilling to let their carelessness or a moan thoughtlessly let slip ruin this nightly paradise.  
  
But Jackson sounded close this time, driven to the edge by frustration, his cock burning Junior's lips, so scorchingly hot and breathtakingly hard that he had to steady himself with both hands rising to settle on Jackson's pelvis and his fingers circling the base of Jackson's dick as he sank his lips slowly down over it, then started sucking when his mouth touched his fingers and he felt the head hit the back of his throat. He kept up a tight and insistent suction, sliding and moving his tongue around Jackson's thickening girth with difficulty, one of his hands disappearing from Junior's hair as he bit into his knuckles to keep himself silent (Junior would later have to dress the bleeding teeth marks tenderly with band-aids). When he pulled back off his cock for a moment to press the tip of his tongue into Jackson's slit, hands curling around the length, Jackson emitted a strangled gasp and thrust forward, fucking Junior's mouth open. He jerked his hips up a few times, sporadically, then began to come hotly and copiously down Junior's throat.  
  
"God," Jackson shook his head in wonder later, leaning boneless and drained against Junior's headboard as Junior sat on the floor with his head pillowed in Jackson's lap, letting Jackson stroke his hair like he was a pet. He could feel Jackson's pulse slowing in his fingertips, his post-blowjob voice like sandpaper. "Where did you learn to give blowjobs like that?" His hand rested proprietarily over Junior's hair, breathtakingly large against the side of his head.  
  
Junior chuckled quietly, enjoying Jackson's fingers carding idly and caressingly through his strands. "Do you really want to know?"  
  
He didn't realise the insensitiveness of his words until Jackson's hand stilled and his body stiffened below him, but he only fell silent and didn't say anything. Still, Jackson was the one who had asked so Junior didn't know what kind of answer he was expecting with a question like that. The awkward pause lasted until Jackson freed himself from under Junior's body and turned away, lying down and curling up protectively into himself so his back rose like an impenetrable wall to Junior's dismay.  
  
"I'm tired," was all he said, voice inflectionless. "Good night."  
  
  
  
But the next night, he didn't expect to be the one to be consumed by an unexpected wave of crashing jealousy when he remarked curiously, "You're pretty good at this... gay sex thing for a first-timer. Do you have experience?"  
  
He was fully expecting Jackson to say no, and explain his knowledge with an easy answer like him having done research or something. Because Jackson had told him he was straight before their relationship, Junior naturally assumed that he was the first man Jackson had been with.  
  
So his heart stopped when Jackson replied after a pause, sounding sheepish, "Kind of. A little, I guess."  
  
" _Kind of? A little?_ " Junior couldn't stop himself from screeching, nearly exceeding their regulated decibel, but he was so shell-shocked that he lost his senses for a moment. "What the hell does that mean?"  
  
Jackson was silent. Junior felt his fingers clench up, body tensing as he asked in a low voice with dread, "Who?"  
  
Somehow, he knew the answer even before he heard it. "Mark," Jackson replied, sounding tentative and regretful.  
  
He felt his entire body and mind reeling backwards. He wondered if he had heard wrongly, but had the sinking feeling that this explained a lot of things. It had been clear from the first day to him that Jackson and Mark were extremely close, but it had stupidly never occurred to him, even after he had gotten together with Jackson, that their relationship had ever been more than platonic.  
  
Now, Jackson was winding his arms around his chest, sounding panicked as Junior rolled over and turned away from him to face the wall, burying his face in the plushie to try to recover his equilibrium. Jackson sounded frustrated, like he was impatient Junior was making a big deal out of nothing, but afraid at the same time, like he knew what a blow this was to Junior.  
  
"It was just a few times!" he babbled defensively, but this only made Junior inhale sharply and turn around, grabbing Jackson's shoulders tightly. "A few times?" His voice cracked shrilly. He felt a piercing pain in his chest, like his heart was breaking.  
  
Jackson gulped, looking like he was inwardly cursing himself for putting his foot in his mouth.  
  
"It was years ago, when we were in Paris. We were drunk shitfaced and lonely. One thing led to another. It was completely meaningless," he quickly justified, eyes beseeching Junior to forgive him. "Honestly, I completely forgot about it till you asked. That's how little it meant." His voice was touchingly sincere, but Junior's chest still felt too tight to breathe. He couldn't process and accept in one moment that Jackson, _his_ Jackson had been possessed, been touched by another man, and Junior hadn't even touched him. How could Junior even compare to a male specimen as perfect as Mark? He felt the sudden urge to throw himself at Jackson right here and now, take him completely and give himself to him, as if by doing this he could erase all the other people who Jackson had ever made love with.  
  
"Junior," Jackson said seriously, his voice low but grave, eyes drilling into Junior's imperatively to draw Junior back out of the dazed and desolate stupor into which he had sunk. "I would be lying if I said I didn't have any experience before I met you. But Mark; those girls -- they didn't _count_. Jinyoung -- you taught me the difference between convenience and choice. The rest of the other people I've ever slept with, I did so out of proximity, out of need; but with you -- I would still pick you even if I could have anybody I wanted. You might not be the first one I've given my body to, but you're the first person I've given both my heart and body."  
  
The earnestness in his voice and the cringingly cheesy but achingly honest words broke Junior. He felt his heart softening, melting ridiculously at Jackson's soft and imploring eyes, the worry in his pale face that this would be a dealbreaker for Junior. He had no idea that Junior was already in too deep to extricate himself, even if he wanted to. Which, as he had told Jackson that night they confessed in the alley, he had no intention of ever letting him go.  
  
But he remained silent, to keep Jackson on edge and punish him a little, just because the anxiety on Jackson's face made him feel beloved.  
  
Jackson shoved his shoulder gently, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Come on," he coaxed, voice honeyed. "Don't be pissy."  
  
Junior pursed his lips and didn't crack a smile, but Jackson knew the nuances of his face too well by now to be fooled. "It's cute when you get jealous," he chortled with way too much glee.  
  
He grabbed the pillow from behind their heads and climbed over Jackson, straddling his hips. He thumped Jackson in the face with the pillow, making a flumping noise.  
  
When he lifted it off Jackson's face, he looked breathless and surprised and disheveled, but he was smiling. Junior still refused to say anything, but Jackson reached up and gently loosened the pillow from his hand, his other hand boldly moving up to caress Junior's face. He continued, smiling softly, "It makes me feel like you love me."  
  
He looked surprised when these were the words that finally loosened Junior's lips and broke his silence. "I do," Junior said simply, hearing Jackson's breath hitch as he leaned down to steal his answer from his lips.  
  
  
  
But while he wasn't aware, the tension was building, like an invisible net closing in from both sides to trap him. The questions Jackson asked grew more and more specific and curious, difficult to fob off. His inquisitiveness was guileless, genuinely wanting to know more about Junior's life and past as Junior wanted to know about his. And Jackson had shared with him so much about his life and secrets, that Junior knew he was being unfair. Every time he eluded another of Jackson's questions, he could sense Jackson's growing frustration and confused hurt even though he didn't say a word of reproach.  
  
A few times, he had voiced concern about Junior's amnesia again, asking him if he had regained any memories in the past year at all. Junior answered as vaguely as he could, changing the subject, and Jackson thankfully dropped the issue.  
  
_Just one more day_ , Junior would find himself pleading with whatever higher power there was up there, every night after Jackson had fallen asleep and Junior traced with shaking fingers the boyish shadows of his thick eyelashes curling over his shadowed undereyes, the delicate, almost dainty tip of his nose and his elegant cheekbones. _I'll tell him tomorrow_.  
  
He knew that the borrowed time was just an illusion, bubbles which would shatter upon a touch. But he continued dragging it out, procrastinating and avoiding what he knew he must eventually do.  
  
The next morning, he would wake up beside Jackson at the buzzing of his alarm (Jackson always slept so soundly he never heard it), and let the seconds stretch on as he smiled fondly watching Jackson slumber, until the last possible minute when the first of the sun's rays peeked through the clouds and broke the blue darkness of the room and he reluctantly shook Jackson out of his sweet sleep.  
  
_I'll tell him today_ , he would think, but then Jackson would blink away groggily, looking disoriented at first before his eyes registered Junior and the warmth and comfort and sheer happiness that softened them robbed Junior of breath. Jackson would wind lazy hands around his waist, eyes closing again with a smile still laced on his lips till Junior shook him awake gently, whispering, "You have to go back to your room now, or someone will see you."  
  
"Let them," Jackson would say, opening his eyes again and bringing Junior's hand up to his lips for a languid good morning kiss. His voice was gravelly. "I want everyone to know who you belong to."  
  
Junior would blush, unable to take the unbearable sappiness, and clear his throat unsteadily, quickly pushing Jackson into a sitting position and ushering him out of his bed and to the door, where Jackson lingered sleepily, looking so rumpled and defenseless clutching his blanket and pillow with his hair impossibly tousled that Junior felt the words die on his tongue.  
  
_Not today.  
  
Please, just one more day.  
  
Just one more.  
  
Just one.  
  
Just... please_.  
  
  
  
His idyll ended at the most unexpected of times, just when he had been lulled into a false sense of security. That night, he sensed something was wrong, stomach dropping to his knees immediately as he walked back into Jackson's room after his bath where Junior had left him playing Candy Crush on his phone because his own was charging. He was towelling his hair dry, but Jackson didn't shamelessly check him out the way he usually did, eyes raking over Junior's damp hair and body.  
  
Belatedly, he noticed that Jackson was staring dazedly at his phone, unmoving. He approached, feeling like the ground had fallen out from under his feet. His heart roared in his ears with an ominous premonition. When he was in front of Jackson, he could see that his face was unnaturally pale, hands shaking.  
  
He held out the phone to Junior. "What's this?" he whispered.  
  
Junior took the phone, their fingers brushing. Jackson immediately recoiled like Junior repulsed him and his heart clenched painfully. He immediately scanned the message on the screen. It was from an unknown number and read, _J, how's it going? Did you get the secret recipe?_  
  
  
x  
  
  
It went without saying that that morning, when the cab driver asked for JB's address, he paused before tellling him to go to Mark's apartment; and equally naturally and unsurprisingly that he moved into Mark's house from that day onwards.  
  
Mark seemed happy with his decision, as if he had been planning to invite JB to do the very thing. He had already made a copy of his key for JB a few months back, when he started sleeping over, and JB even had his own mug and toothbrush and towel in Mark's bathroom. He made a cursory visit back to the dormitory building to pack up his belongings and clothes before moving into Mark's spare room, the one he had always stayed in when he slept over. But most nights, he found himself sleeping in Mark's bed, nestled against his warm body with his head pillowed on Mark's bicep and feeling his breaths ghosting over JB's bare skin.  
  
He was surprised by Mark's appetite for him after their first time, which was matched equally by his own. He seemed to desire JB with unfailing fervour every night, even after bone-tiring days at work, and sometimes even in the day too. It could be inconvenient at work, especially when Mark would touch him unconsciously but a little too inapprorpriately to be seen in front of Junior, in a way that made it crystal clear JB's body belonged to him.  
  
JB's body got used to the frequent and athletic sexual activity with remarkable rapidity, adjusting seamlessly to accommodate Mark's length and the weight of his body moving above JB, pushing his body to its limits and then over the edge into spiralling ecstasy. He was embarrassed by how sensitive his body became overnight, as if it wasn't his own; how he bloomed under Mark's fingertips like flowers under sunlight and moaned in a way that echoed around the empty apartment now that there was no one to hear them.  
  
Mark seemed pleased by his responsiveness, seemed to find it a turn-on, but he was still painstakingly careful with JB, seeming afraid to overexert his body, refusing to penetrate him every day no matter how shamelessly JB begged or tried to tempt him. He would threaten to leave and sleep in JB's room if he didn't stop trying to grind his ass against Mark's dick, the low warning tone in his voice telling JB he meant business.  
  
In the end, as usual, Mark would triumph, and JB would fall asleep, cockblocked and grumpy with Mark's fading erection still digging into his back because JB had thrown a tantrum and refused to let Mark touch him or himself touch Mark if Mark refused to fuck him and in the end he was the one regretting his spitefulness as his own boner ached and kept him awake till he managed to calm down.  
  
  
  
But although he would never admit it to Mark, even these petty arguments were a kind of bliss. They hadn't travelled to any exotic locales like Greece or the Maldives but waking up next to Mark every morning made even the most mundane of days feel like a honeymoon. Even Mark's drab and cramped apartment held the sparkle and glamour of the presidential suite of a five-star hotel as he puttered around the kitchen, clumsily making JB breakfast every morning even though his coffee always tasted off. He refused to let JB lift a finger even on the days he wasn't sore, and JB teased Mark about looking like a housewife in his cute pastel apron, albeit an inept one. Mark would smile and lean down indulgently to peck his cheek, placing his plate of perfectly browned toast, bacon and eggs in front of him. "Yes, yes. I'm your wife, _jagi-ya_." He had no idea where Mark picked up these random Korean words (usually terms of endearment) from but Mark always managed to insert them into his speech at the times which rendered JB weakest.  
  
  
  
"I changed the names on the title deed of the apartment and bakery," Mark mentioned offhandedly one morning when they were reading the papers while sipping orange juice in companionable silence. "I transferred half of both to you."  
  
JB's breath caught in his throat, stunned. He hadn't seen that coming.  
  
"W-why?" he gulped, and Mark put down his newspaper, looking up. He seemed surprised by JB's question.  
  
"Because I want you to be my co-owner," he replied, matter-of factly. "Don't worry," he joked, "I won't ask you to share the mortgage too."  
  
"No, that's not what I meant!" JB quickly clarified. "I want to help you with the mortgage. But I don't need part of the ownership. It's too much. I can't accept it."  
  
"Jaebum..." Mark looked hurt. "What's this about yours and mine? Why are you drawing the lines between us? You know, that all of what's mine is yours." His smile was reproachful.  
  
JB's heart clenched at how he had inadvertently hurt Mark with his insensitivity. He was dumbstruck by Mark's unassuming generosity, expansiveness and largesse. Though he didn't have much, he genuinely and earnestly wanted to share everything he owned with JB without holding back. And JB realised that he felt honoured to receive half of Mark's property, and wanted to take his burdens onto his shoulders too.  
  
So he swallowed the rest of his protests and just said quietly, "Thank you." He reached across the table to take Mark's hand in his, caressing his knuckles. Mark smiled in relief, happiness lighting up his face as he shook his head wordlessly and brought JB's knuckles up to his worshipful lips. _You're welcome_.  
  
  
  
As they moved around each other in the kitchen in their by now seamlessly perfected tandem, almost as smooth as the way their bodies fit into each other's jagged edges in bed at night, Mark shooting him the occasional affectionate, absent half-smile even when he was busy, JB thought of how he had always been a tried-and-true cynic. He had watched enough movies to know that true love was as rare as mythical animals, and when it did exist, it almost always ended in tragedy. He had never been someone you would call an optimist. But miraculously, Mark had made him believe in happy endings.  
  
Because happy endings weren't guaranteed, but Mark made JB want to hope for one with him. He made JB want to work towards it, towards them being happy together, in their limited portion of forever.  
  
He thought of Mark's disarming awkwardness and his charismatic smile, brighter and more blinding than a flashbulb, his bare face more breathtaking than any of the airbrushed actors in the noir films JB devoured growing up. Mark's beauty was the kind that could stop traffic, start wars and end entire cities. It was a mystery that JB hadn't fallen in love with him at first sight.  
  
But, he thought, watching Mark's serious eyes as he carefully drizzled powdered sugar over a log cake, maybe he had. Maybe he had and it had just taken him three years to realise it. The road they had taken to reach here had been roundabout and confusing, not exactly the most straightforward or easy one. But JB knew without a shadow of doubt that it was worth it. He didn't regret a single minute.  
  
  
  
He thought of the series of events that had been set into motion the day they found Junior at the Dumpster and hired him to work at the bakery. Since then, they had all gotten to know each other better, and he had gained in both friendship and love. Though he had initially been chilly, resenting Junior before he got to know him, JB now couldn't imagine the bakery without his cheerful presence and warm mothering.  
  
  
  
As they were taking the bus back to the apartment after work that night, Mark leaning his head on his shoulder as they listened to music together with one earbud in each of their ears, JB found himself thinking out loud.  
  
"Mark-yah," he said, nudging him gently, and Mark raised his head to look at him with a questioning smile.  
  
JB took a deep breath, smiling back shakily. "Shall we buy a car together?"  
  
  
x  
  
  
Nine months earlier, a few days before he entered the patisserie and met Jackson and the other boys, he had happened to run into the French actor he had dated by coincidence. He was surprised to see him back in Los Angeles, and had allowed himself to be chatted up. His ex-boyfriend looked scruffier, but more mature and well-groomed. He told Junior he was back in LA for a brief spell to attend a casting call that had summoned him back for a second audition, and dropped broad hints that he was on his way to fame and fortune.  
  
They had gone to a nearby bistro to catch up on old times, and then that night, had a painfully typical and cliche one night stand in a shoddy hotel room. It was a meaningless fling, just to get the lingering feelings out of his system, but when they were done Junior realised that he didn't even have any feelings for the guy anymore. The only things he felt were dirty and regretful as they lay in bed after the unmemorable and bland fuck, not facing each other.  
  
He had been lonely and frustrated, not having been laid in months, and had just been waiting, willing, for someone, _anyone_ to seduce him. So when his ex -- whose name he didn't even want to think because he wanted to forget it and put that part of his life behind him, whose number he had erased from his contacts list and thought he would never hear from again -- said in his sleazy, flirtatious drawl, "I miss you," he had fallen right into his bed and spread his legs. It was regression of the worst kind, the kind that didn't even provide any fulfilment but just made one feel even more hollow.  
  
  
  
After they had parted months ago and Junior had left New York, they hadn't even kept in touch and he assumed that the guy would leave him alone and not contact him anymore. He hadn't bothered to change his number, the past few months making him feel like he had left his old world and stepped into a whole new universe, the bakery with its comforting and warm scents of drifting flour and warm bread baking so far removed from that old catty, superficial circle he used to mingle in that he felt like it was another lifetime entirely.  
  
But now, he realised too late that worlds could collide almost too frighteningly easily. He should have drawn the lines, burned his bridges, severed all ties from that fame-hungry, glamour-chasing crowd he used to be part of. He was shaken to realise that the life he had built here over the past nine months could be so easily destroyed, collapsed like a house of cards, by just one simple text message.  
  
  
  
In the few minutes that they had lingered in bed the next morning after having their slightly drunk, bad sex, the ex-boyfriend had asked him about what he was doing now for work and he had stupidly, unaccountably, blurted out the plan he had hatched to infiltrate the patisserie, telling him about Mark and how long Junior had idolized him, how he intended to gain his trust and find a way to steal his recipe for the barley choux cream puffs that were the bakery's signature pastry. He got more far-fetched, boasting about how, with the experience he had gained working in bakeries in the past few months, he would improve on this secret recipe and make it his own, then open a shop of his own and make big money. His ex-boyfriend had laughed and wished him good luck.  
  
He had clean forgotten this incident, and definitely never expected it to come back and haunt him later. Though it had been less than a year ago, he felt so drastically different from the person who had thought up such a malicious and downright dumb scheme that it didn't even seem like himself.  
  
He recalled with his heart plummeting how he had deliberately and calculatedly plotted to get drunk that day, then planted himself on the floor against the Dumpster at the time he knew from a few prior days of spying that Mark usually came out into the alley for a cigarette break. Somehow, he had fallen asleep waiting, and when he opened his eyes hours later, the alcohol had temporarily wiped away his memories and JB was leaning over him.  
  
In the months that followed, he would occasionally wonder and ask himself why he hadn't just applied to work in the patisserie, the traditional way, like any other normal person would do. He had confidence in his chops, and knew he was a skilled baker -- but it was just that he was worried his sketchy background and late start in baking, coupled by his glaring lack of qualifications from any prestigious culinary institutes to speak of, would not work in his favour. He knew he only had one shot, that if he was rejected once and tried again he would go from normal into stalker territory in a blink of an eye. So he couldn't take the risk of applying formally and being turned away. No matter what, he knew he _had_ to find a way to get into the patisserie.  
  
Now, he couldn't even remember what he had been thinking, how his mind had worked. His thought process seemed incomprehensible, cringingly childish to him. He didn't feel like he could possibly be responsible for coming up with such a hurtful and stupid plan, but he was responsible. And as the days passed and he had to weave even more falsehoods to support his initial, thoughtless lie that he had amnesia, the web of lies had grown, more complicated and tangled till they twisted his limbs together and trapped him.  
  
  
  
Now, he struggled to find the words to possibly explain this whole convoluted mess, his tongue thick in his mouth and his heart a lump choking up his throat as he saw something in Jackson's eyes that made his heart feel like it was being thrown off a cliff, something that made him realise that this could be a mistake Jackson would never forgive him for, that would make him break up with Junior.  
  
He fumbled with his words, tripping over them as they tumbled out incoherently. Jackson's face was darkening as he watched Junior desperately spin excuses, plead for forgiveness, blinking back the tears gathering rapidly in his eyes as Jackson's face only closed up more, his eyes growing more impassive and stony the more Junior babbled.  
  
When he finally stopped, knowing he was all out of excuses and closing his eyes in resignation and swallowing the sob he felt gathering in his throat, Jackson only said tightly, "Did you _plan_ this?"  
  
When he opened his eyes, his heart lurched because he had never seen Jackson looking so furious, and never expected that when he did, it would be at him. There was no trace of warmth in Jackson's eyes, all the softness wiped out so what was left was a frighteningly intimidating blankness.  
  
"Did you plan everything? To let me find you?" Jackson repeated, more roughly when he didn't reply.  
  
Junior swallowed hard. "No, I -- I didn't even know you! I swear --"  
  
Jackson's mouth twisted down ironically. "So you planned for Mark to find you, then," he stated, flatly. "You must've been disappointed that it was me instead."  
  
Junior gulped audibly. He tried not to blink, but his tears were flowing freely now, stinging his eyes and hot on his face. But for the first time, Jackson seemed completely immune to them, face unforgiving and eyes only hardening further as if in disgust at Junior's crocodile tears.  
  
"I don't get it," Jackson continued, voice bitter and merciless. "Why would you lie like that? Did you want it so badly? Were you obsessed with Mark? Some kind of stalker or something?"  
  
Junior found it difficult to answer, because he realised now that yes, he must have been obssessed with Mark, unconsciously, in some twisted way, to be able to even think of doing such a thing. When now, he realised with bitter clarity that had he applied the normal, healthy way, he would have been accepted into the bakery just as warmly and welcomingly. He had never felt so ashamed, so small as shifting uncomfortably on his feet in front of Jackson right now, unable to look straight into his penetrating and judgmental eyes. Jackson was such a righteous, straightforward person. It was understandable that he could not conceive of the dark depths of a mind that could conjure such a plan.  
  
His abjectly contrite silence only seemed to infuriate Jackson more, but he could find no other ways to defend himself. Any further justification would be an insult to Jackson and the other staff of the bakery who had so warm-heartedly welcomed him into their fold and accepted him like family.  
  
The silence stretched on excruciatingly awkwardly, before Jackson spoke up, his voice small. "Were you just using me?" he said, sounding beaten now, broken. "Jinyoung," he said, voice trembling, and despite the utter lack of affection in his tone, Junior still shuddered at his name. "My heart... was it just a joke to you?"  
  
It was like a punch to his gut, that question. His first instinct was to feel offended, aggrieved, because how could Jackson even think that Junior was anything but true to him? But then he tried putting himself in Jackson's shoes, seeing his viewpoint, and was aware with a sinking heart that it was understandable that Jackson had assumed that, because his actions had been misleading first.  
  
"No!" he immediately said, the word rushing out of his mouth even before he knew what he was saying, it was so instinctive. He wanted so badly to wipe the hurt out of Jackson's profoundly wounded eyes. "Never," he swore fervently. "Jackson, I'm so sorry --" Unconsciously, he had reached out to hold Jackson's arm, a movement that had grown so natural in the past two months. But now, Jackson blanched as he pulled away brusquely from Junior's touch, shaking his hand off as if it stung.  
  
He backed away, walls coming up in his eyes as Junior's own watered, his heart splintering painfully and helplessly. "Don't touch me," Jackson spat out, Junior's touch seeming to set his wrath aflame. "I don't know who you are anymore. I've never known you." He shook his head, looking lost, and Junior's heart dropped.  
  
"What are you talking about? I'm still me, and I love you --"  
  
"You're such a good actor, Jinyoungie," Jackson said, enunciating his name with poisonous sweetness. There was something that looked like hatred in his eyes. "It's such a pity you never became one."  
  
"Jackson, please, I didn't mean to; _please_ forgive me, give me a second chance --"  
  
"Cut the crap." His voice lashed out harshly as a whip. "You're full of shit. You exploited me. You betrayed us. If I get sweet-talked by you again, I'd be an idiot."  
  
"Jackson, I know I was wrong... I'm begging you; I can't live without you --"  
  
"You're so good with pretty words, Junior. Was it fun? Laughing at me with your boyfriend, about what a gullible sucker I was, being so worried about your _amnesia_ , chasing after you like a lovestruck fool?"  
  
"He's not my boyfriend, God, I haven't even spoken to him in a year --"  
  
"Do I look like I give a fuck?"  
  
"Jackson..."  
  
"Junior... did you ever love me?"  
  
"I loved you. I love you."  
  
"..."  
  
"..."  
  
"I don't believe you."  
  
"Fine, suit yourself. I said I was sorry."  
  
Jackson smirked at him cruelly and humourlessly when he snapped finally in frustration, as if Junior had finally revealed his true colours. But he was at the end of his tether too. He had wanted so badly to come clean to Jackson, tried to work up the courage for so many weeks, but in the end he had never been brave enough to trust that Jackson would be able to forgive him. And he had been right.  
  
"You know I won't allow anyone to hurt Mark," he said, voice silky and smooth again. "Not even you."  
  
And even though it was the most wildly inappropriate time possible, especially since they were probably over, the fucked up thing was that the name on Jackson's tongue still felt like a dagger between his ribs. He wanted to push Jackson against the wall, take him by force and make him listen, give him no choice but to forgive, kiss Mark's name out of his mouth, out of his head. He wanted to punch himself for being so fucking stupid, singlehandedly ruining the only real and meaningful relationship he had ever had in his pathetic life; throwing away something so precious for nothing and hurting the dearest, most vulnerable person he had ever loved. The only person he had ever truly loved.  
  
"Just get out," Jackson said. He looked tired and just done now, the anger drained away. "I don't want to see you."


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is mature. (warning: use of gag)

After he had left the room, placing one foot in front of the other mechanically, he had barely walked a few steps when he heard the door slam behind him. His heart fell as he turned to see Jackson's door closed and unyielding, shut off to him probably for good. His feet felt like they had invisible metal chains fastened to them as he continued plodding on autopilot towards his own room, his heart beating shallowly and sickeningly in his chest. He felt like throwing up and when he sank down on the edge of his bed his phone pressed against his thigh in his pocket like a live, warm weight of accusation. He wanted to call back the unknown number, yell profanities down the line, hurl insults and blame at the idiot who had just ruined his life with a single text message. And yet, he knew with a horribly heavy feeling that it was his own fault.  
  
Some time passed. He estimated it as approximately fifteen minutes but he was still sitting in the same position, body boneless and weak when he was startled out of his daze by a series of muffled but loud, regular thumping sounds. At first, he couldn't figure out where they were coming from, but then he realised, with a cold vise around his heart, that they sounded like someone punching the wall a few rooms away. When he realised it was Jackson, every successive smash felt like his heart being ripped out. He could only imagine from how they sounded the force he was exerting and how he must be frustratedly and repeatedly bashing his balled up fist against the wall till his knuckles were bruised and bloody.  
  
He sat there with his own clenched fist pressed against his mouth, paralyzed until after a few agonizing minutes a door opened and the horrible noises ceased. He found himself breathing hard as he leaned down and placed his light head between his knees, feeling sick. Everything was spiralling out of control, had gone down the drain in a matter of minutes that he was still in a state of shell-shock, unable to wrap his mind around it. His knees knocked together at how irate Jackson obviously was at him as he realised the depth of his fury and rage. He couldn't believe that he had hurt Jackson, made him hurt himself. His heart felt like it was cracking down the centre.  
  
  
  
He dragged himself to work the next day, in abject humiliation and wishing he was somewhere else, or that the ground would open up and swallow him. But he didn't know what else to do and no matter how painful it was, he feared not turning up would send a message that he didn't mean to Mark and the others.  
  
By the end of the first shift, Mark, JB and the other three boys knew. He gathered that Jackson had told Mark, warned Mark to beware of him, and Mark had told JB; while Bambam knew because he had been the one to rush into Jackson's room and stop him from punching the wall the previous night. Naturally, nothing Bambam knew was a secret from Youngjae and Yugyeom.  
  
His insides were all twisted up with nervous anxiety and he didn't dare to raise his eyes to meet anybody's as he slunk around the bakery in deep shame. He had known that paper couldn't keep fire under wraps for long, but he felt his paranoia building that all the six boys who knew had started glaring at him with resentment and threat in their eyes, turning into unfriendly strangers, even though no one said anything to him until lunchtime when Mark cornered him just as everyone else was trooping for the staff meal (which he had intended to ditch). Jackson was nowhere in sight, having disappeared once the shift ended. Junior felt himself shaking in his boots as JB walked up from behind Mark too, his eyes unsmiling and boring into Junior's face.  
  
"Junior..." Mark started, as he took a trembling step back and felt himself trapped against the wall. Mark was staring into his eyes more grimly and seriously than Junior had ever seen him. JB silently imposed his intimidating aura too from behind his shoulder.  
  
"What Jackson told me..." Mark said very quietly, eyes gripping his. "Is it true?"  
  
He didn't say anything, only lowering his head in silent guilt as the awkward pause lengthened. Mark took a step towards him and he looked up, instinctively flinching in trepidation of a blow, but Mark only stopped in front of him and continued studying him with his eyes hardening as comprehension dawned in them. Behind him, disbelief chased across JB's face, swiftly followed by a menacing expression at Mark's sharp, anguished intake of breath. Junior gulped, swallowing hard and half expecting they were both going to punch him right here against the kitchen wall.  
  
Instead, the oppressive hush only stretched on as the two of them stared at him unblinkingly, as if trying to digest the fact. Junior hadn't thought of this, hadn't prepared for how stunned Mark would look, blinking dazedly as if Junior had dealt him a physical blow. He saw how much Mark had thought of him as a friend in this, in the way JB clenched his jaw tightly, a muscle ticking as he tried to get his expression under control but his bewildered eyes betrayed him. He saw it from how Mark hadn't believed Jackson right away, taken his word for it, even though Jackson had been his friend of ten years; instead asking Junior before he fully accepted the truth. JB was looking at Junior like he had never seen him before, like he didn't know Junior, the same way Jackson had looked at him the previous day. They both were. And it hurt almost as much as Jackson's reaction had.  
  
Junior's insides were quaking as neither of them said anything still after a few more minutes, and Mark took a step back. In the end, Mark never got angry with him or said anything else. But Junior wished that he had lost his temper, flared up and berated or even struck him physically. Anything would be better than the way he just looked at Junior silently, eyes deeply hurt and disappointed, before turning to walk out of the kitchen heavily without saying another word. It cut him even more than if Mark had yelled at him. Junior cowered as JB remained, ducking his head into his chest and fully expecting JB to give him a left hook in the stomach.  
  
Instead, he felt JB's hand close over his shoulder in a tight grip, wrenching him roughly forward to look at him. JB's eyes were flared with anger but he didn't hit Junior with either his hands or words. All he said as his eyes pinned Junior's judgmentally were, "I thought better of you. I didn't expect you to be just like the others."  
  
But just like Mark's, the words hit where it hurt most, more brutally than any blows. Junior helplessly watched him walk away too, feeling his world crumbling down into shambles.  
  
  
  
That night, he bolted the moment the shift was over and no one asked where he was going. He went to a nearby watering hole and got drunk with cheap booze and so many glasses of beer he could no longer keep count. But no matter how much he drank, he couldn't forget the looks on JB and Mark's faces. Mostly, Jackson's frighteningly furious face kept flashing into his mind like a recurring nightmare.  
  
He didn't want to go back to the dorms, couldn't bring himself to. He felt like he had lost the last shreds of his dignity today, and couldn't even contemplate the thought of facing the younger boys who hadn't confronted him yet. He couldn't bear to face how Jackson would act towards him after his last words, whether he would be awkward or worse, outright disregard Junior's existence.  
  
So he got a room at a nearby grubby and dank motel, and spent a disturbed night tossing and turning on the hard uncomfortable bed. As he lay there miserably in the dark with the mother of hangovers, he contemplated his options. Mark hadn't fired him right away but there was still a chance he would. Even if he didn't, Junior didn't know if he could continue staying at the bakery. He was pretty sure he would be highly unwelcome by the other boys as well as the rest of staff once the news spread. It was only a matter of time.  
  
And then there was Jackson.  
  
  
  
He could just flee now, cut himself loose and make a quick and furtive trip back to the dorms to pack up his belongings and clothes before running away as far as his legs could carry him and never appearing anywhere near this place again. He could never see any of them again for the rest of his life, if he wanted. It was what he would have done in the past, instinctively ran away whenever he landed in trouble or screwed up.  
  
But for some reason, this time, something stopped him.  
  
As the sun broke through the gloomy clouds of predawn, he realised why: he _wanted_ to stay. He didn't know if Mark would allow him to, but he wanted to stay as long as he was permitted, till they explicitly told him to leave. Only then would he break off all ties and walk out of the bakery doors for good. Till then... it hurt to stay like splinters digging under his fingernails. But it hurt more to think of leaving.  
  
  
  
The three youngest boys seemed surprised to see him appearing at work that morning, looking disheveled with heavy circles under his eyes. He had tried to wash up and shower and clean himself up as best he could in the tiny motel bathroom, not wanting to appear as awful a wreck on the outside as he felt on the inside. Plus, his vanity didn't want to let him look like a mess in front of Jackson.  
  
He didn't have the guts to steal more than a fleeting glance, but Jackson didn't look great himself either. He looked pale and wan, his usual undereye shadows even more pronounced, his trademark smile nowhere to be seen as he fumbled clumsily with the bar tasks, impeded by his bandaged right hand. It looked painful and Junior still winced every time he caught sight of it, heart aching sorely. Jackson hadn't looked at Junior once the previous day, or at all so far today, even when he went to collect drinks. He just looked through him like he was transparent, or air.  
  
Mark and JB hadn't said anything to him after yesterday either and their silence hurt. He guessed they were probably still discussing how to handle this. Even though enduring through the shift felt like lying on a bed of nails, he found himself hoping, ridiculously, that Mark and JB wouldn't decide to fire him.  
  
The maknaes still hadn't said anything outright to him yet but his heart sank in dread when Youngjae took him aside and dragged him back to the alley during lunch break. They were usually the only two besides the girls who didn't smoke, so on the rare occasions they met in the alley they would have pleasant conversations in which he had slowly been growing closer to the amenable younger boy. But now, Youngjae's eyes were cool and distant as he said softly, shaking his head, "I believed you, hyung. I respected you."  
  
It was the softness of Youngjae's mellow voice, the quiet betrayal in his eyes which cut him to the quick. Even angry and upset, Youngjae still didn't lose his placid soft-spokenness, his peace-loving gentleness. Junior knew well what a good-tempered boy he was and he was disgusted with himself for doing something that despicable, it had managed to make him lose his composure.  
  
Bambam was not so subtle with his feelings, soon after the afternoon shift had started and they passed ways entering and leaving the kitchen. " _Double crosser_ ," Junior heard him mutter under his breath, but loud enough to hear, and he felt his ears burn and his stomach drop as he looked up to see Bambam giving him a dirty look before swivelling his shoulders back around and sailing away huffily.  
  
But when he looked up to the bar a few feet away, he felt his stomach plummeting further to see for a split second Jackson glowering aggravatedly at the space Bambam had been, knuckles of his left hand whitening around a glass bottle of syrup like he was about to chase after Bambam and climb over him and beat him up with his bandaged fist.  
  
Then Jackson snapped his eyes towards Junior, and Junior spun back around so fast he almost got whiplash. His mind was reeling, unsure of what he had just seen. Why had Jackson looked so murderous when Bambam pretty much called him a traitor, despite the fact that Jackson himself had accused Junior of betraying them? He couldn't make heads or tails of Jackson's reaction, especially since Junior was pretty sure he was still as angry as he had been two days ago, if anything angrier. The only reason he could guess was that perhaps Jackson didn't like hearing others insulting Junior, even if he himself did. He had jokingly said something to that tune before, that he was the only one allowed to diss Junior. But Junior didn't dare to hope... that Jackson still cared. It would be too far-fetched.  
  
  
  
For the next few nights, he lay in bed, burying his nose in his pillow and frantically chasing after the lingering traces of Jackson's faint scent, already fading like the way Junior felt him helplessly slipping away. He missed him so much it hurt, especially at night. He thought grimly that Jackson would probably already have moved back to his apartment with Mark so he wouldn't have to see Junior, if JB hadn't moved in a few weeks ago. It was an ironical and bitter twist of fate, Jackson lying merely three doors away yet so untouchable and unreachable it felt like he was in another universe. Junior felt so unbearably and horribly empty whenever he thought that Jackson would never hold him in his arms again, that he would never feel Jackson's laughter ticklng his skin and his heartbeat evening against Junior's back. He wondered if Jackson missed him too, then laughed bitterly as he thought, _probably not_.  
  
He thought of the way Jackson always complained implacably about Junior giving him blue balls, and yet, when Junior had been completely willing to give himself entirely to him, it had been Jackson who gently resisted and said, _not yet_. Once, when he had frustratedly demanded why, not letting him off without an answer, Jackson had eventually given in and whispered tenderly, _I don't want to hurt you, Jinyoungie_.  
  
He missed Jackson's inimitable, fluting laughter; the way he was clingy and needy and secretly a cuddlebeast, always attaching himself to Junior's body, hanging off his shoulder and from his neck like a lemur. He shouldn't have pretended to be irritated because he was shy and embarrassed; he should have held Jackson back, held him close and touched him as much as he could when he had the chance. He missed Jackson's rangy body; the way he was frequently thrumming with nervous energy, bouncing off the walls, on the balls of his feet even when he wasn't hopped up on caffeine, shaking his limbs out and rolling his wrists, cracking his knuckles boyishly. He was like an adolescent trapped in the body of a young adult man sometimes. He missed the way Jackson would rudely take over his room every other evening, spreading his legs territorially wide as he sat on Junior's bed and watching his football matches on Junior's small staticky TV at high volume, cheering obnoxiously every time Manchester United scored a goal.  
  
He missed Jackson's unshadowed smile; the way he looked at Junior, like he was sacred; and the way he held Junior, like he was fragile as a snowflake. He even missed the disgusting belching contests Jackson would hold with Bambam, which told him he was in too deep to be saved when it didn't even turn him off. He just missed Jackson, his personal sun. Junior's life was so dark and cold without him.  
  
  
  
Only now did he realise how unconditionally Jackson had accepted him, how much he had changed himself for Junior. He put up with the way Junior's room looked like a pig sty because he was too lazy to tidy it up, how he sometimes forgot to wash his socks and occasionally was too tired to shower everyday when he got home.  
  
He had learned to be good at honeyed words because he knew Junior liked being sweet-talked, secretly dreamed of being romanced the old-fashioned, cheesy way. Like once, when he had asked during a bout of insecurity again: "Do you think it would be better if I was a girl?"  
  
Jackson had looked surprised by the question, then snorted, pulling Junior into his lap.  
  
"Yeah," he had replied with a hint of sarcasm. "And it would be nice if you didn't have this smart mouth, petty temper and nerdy brain too. But then who would you be? You'd be just another boring pretty face. You wouldn't be my Junior."  
  
When Junior fell silent at his honesty, Jackson had laughed and kissed away his pout. "I was kidding," he murmured smoothly, mouthing the side of Junior's neck and dragging his lips over his skin. "Why would I mess with perfection?" he whispered flirtatiously in Junior's ear.  
  
Jackson had tried so hard to become his ideal man, but what had Junior done in return besides letting him down? Nowadays, his eyes slid over Junior's dismissively and impersonally, as if they didn't know, hadn't already learnt every inch of each other's body by heart. Every time Jackson's gaze moved over him without lingering, it still felt like his heart was being gouged out of his chest. It took every ounce of effort he had in him not to just run away and hide from this heartbreak, become a hermit and live in seclusion for the rest of his life.  
  
He hadn't even had time to savour their brief spell of giddy, conjugal bliss before it was over, taken it for granted that it would last for a long time more. He had always thought himself as and prided himself on being self-sufficient, not needing or relying on anybody, but he was afraid that for the first time he had found someone he couldn't afford to lose, someone who had become to him so crucial and fundamental to his life that just the thought of losing him made him panic. This love had sneaked up on him and grabbed him by the throat, unconsciously becoming to him as essential as breathing.  
  
  
  
Weeks passed and Mark still didn't ask him to leave. Neither he nor JB looked at Junior most of the time, even when he was in the kitchen, and Junior knew he had to man up and do something, say something, before it was too late to even try to repair the damage.  
  
So at the end of one of the shifts, as they were heading out for their meal, he took a deep breath and waylaid them boldly. Mark looked at him questioningly but dully, and JB stepped discreetly but protectively in front of him as if he was worried Junior would hold him at knifepoint and demand him to hand over his secret recipe or something.  
  
Junior swallowed at the disinterest in talking to him spelled on their faces. He decided he had no other choice but to go all out. So, in an occsionally cracking voice, he began the incoherent and bumbling explanation he had rehearsed for nights. Yes, he admitted shamefacedly, initially, he had concocted a brainless, half-baked and cruel plan to steal Mark's secret recipe and leave with it. But that was almost a year ago, before he had met Mark personally, and JB and Jackson and all the other boys, and everything, _everything_ had changed...  
  
Junior thought about how he used to chased after money, thinking it was the only route to happiness. That was before he had known the singular joy of being accepted into the patisserie, with its homey ambience and cozy warmth, surrounded by people who loved him, and people he loved. The bakery itself had grown so much during his time here, alongside him. He had left indelible traces of himself on every part of it -- the menu, the graffitied wall, the hearts of all the staff. And as it evolved, he also slowly became more involved, till one day he had found himself completely invested in this place, these people. This patchwork family had come to mean the world to him.  
  
Somewhere along the way, he had let them into his heart, and if he ever left he knew he would miss dearly Mark's overwhelming kindness and his patient and brilliant tutelage; JB's gruff friendship and the little but helpful tips he imparted; Youngjae's cheerfulness and unflagging positivity; Bambam's adorably broken English and charmingly imprecise Korean; Yugyeom's sweet smile and how he was unfailingly there whenever Junior needed help; the unique mixture of Mandarin and Korean and English the other boys communicated in; and the girls' silvery giggles and high ponytails swinging jauntily as they bustled around the bakery, bringing a touch of feminine girlishness to the otherwise masculine, testosterone-filled environment.  
  
But most of all, he would miss Jackson, who had rescued him, changed him and loved him when no one else would. He had calculated everything else to the smallest detail, but what he could never have prepared himself for was meeting Jackson, and falling for him. That was totally and completely unplanned, a curveball he had not seen coming. No matter what, he would never forget that Jackson was the person who had taught him how rewarding it was to love without self-preservation.  
  
He didn't realise that he had gotten overly emotional and overwrought while talking until JB reached up to the shelf to pluck a kitchen towel from the box and offered it to him awkwardly. Junior took it in embarrassment, feeling his nose running and quickly dabbed at it with the stiff, large square of paper. When his vision cleared, he saw Mark looking at him quietly, eyes soft with sympathy. He had no idea, couldn't remember what he had said but JB was looking less pissed and detached than he had been a few minutes ago too, shifting uncomfortably on his feet at Junior's breakdown.  
  
  
  
He only went into the alley alone now when no one else was there, to lean against the wall and brood and wallow in self-pity. He could tell when Jackson had recently been there from the way the air would be thick with smoke, viciously crushed, sloppily chain-smoked cigarette butts littering the floor. It worried and hurt him that Jackson seemed to be smoking increasingly more again, probably because of him. He felt crushed and frustrated that he no longer had any claim over Jackson, any right to order him to take care of his health. He even went so far as to think Jackson was doing it to spite him, because he knew Junior hated him over-smoking, but then he felt bad for attributing such malice to Jackson who had never displayed any such underhanded passive-aggressiveness towards him.  
  
One morning, he woke up sleepily alone in his cocoon of covers to lowered temperatures and the sight of first snow outside his window. His breath caught as he drew back the curtain slightly to look out at the pure untainted landscape of soft white reflecting sunlight. He had been looking forward to making snow angels with Jackson, having a romantic snowball fight like in dramas, fantasies that would now probably never be realises.  
  
He was leaving the dormitory building after he had eaten breakfast alone, preparing to walk alone to the bakery as he did nowadays. He tightened his fleece jacket around his shoulders and pulled the fur-lined hood over his head. As he started walking, a drizzle of snow began falling and he couldn't resist stopping to tilt his head up and open his mouth to try and catch a snowflake on his tongue like a litte kid.  
  
He closed his eyes as the snowflake melted icily on his tongue. When he opened them, he caught sight of Jackson standing a distance away, watching him with an odd, fierce expression and eyes so pained that his heart jumped into his throat. When he saw that Junior had noticed him, he quickly turned on his heel and stalked away briskly in the direction of the bakery.  
  
After some time he had thankfully ended his silent treatment but he still only talked to Junior when it was strictly absolutely necessary, and even then he made it clear how unwilling he felt to do it by speaking in a condescendingly disdainful tone. Junior tried tirelessly and relentlessly to get through to him, but every time he approached and tried to talk about personal topics Jackson would pretend to be so busy he couldn't look up or do something like turn on the blender to drown out Junior's voice with the whirring.  
  
The first few days, he had texted Jackson apologies and lengthy explanations of his actions about twenty times a day, all of which had gone unreplied. He had tried to approach him in the bakery, at the dorm, but at work Jackson avoided him like the plague and at home he refused to open the door to Junior's knocks. Soon his knuckles were bruised and his heart felt the same, and he gave up on trying to communicate with Jackson. Because it was obvious that he didn't want to give Junior a chance, hear him out; and because he was sick, sick of tiptoeing around Jackson, of grovelling uselessly and seeing that dark look on his face that said _You've done me wrong_. Jackson's hand had recovered after a few days but apparently his pride still felt as sore as the first day.  
  
It came as scant relief that he wasn't talking much to anyone else either, wearing that dark, forbidding look on his face all day, glaring at anyone who came close and snapping at people who dared to talk to him, irritable and disagreeable. But what Junior found most heart-aching was the disappointment in Jackson's eyes when he now looked at him, as if this incident had changed, diminished Junior in his eyes. Which he wasn't surprised about, even though it still hurt -- he knew he was the one who had done something wrong, the one who should rightfully grovel for forgiveness. He was aware of the gravity of his mistake, but he just didn't know what else he could do besides apologising and pleading for a second chance to make amends. Now, it was Jackson's serve, and if he didn't want to forgive Junior he couldn't force him to. There was only so much he could do.  
  
It was difficult to think of it as progress when one day he finally managed to corner Jackson alone in the alley, following him out for his cigarette break and placing himself in front of the door to block his exit route. Jackson smirked humourlessly at him before leaning against the wall belligerently and pretending to ignore his presence as he lit up a cigarette and took an obnoxiously long drag, his eyes disappearing behind the large cloud of smoke he exhaled.  
  
Junior felt as tiny as an ant. "D-don't you miss me at all?" he found himself whispering in embarrassingly dramatic anguish. "I thought you said you loved me. Can you just turn your feelings off so easily, like a faucet?"  
  
He thought Jackson wasn't going to reply, but he looked at Junior with steely and aloof eyes, blowing smoke into his face and making Junior wave a hand in front of him and cough, eyes watering.  
  
"Sure," Jackson replied slowly, voice mocking. "Can't you?"  
  
He felt the last part of his heart still left intact breaking to pieces too. He clenched his jaw and placed a hand on the door handle, unwilling to stay and ask further questions that would only tear him apart more.  
  
He was startled to hear Jackson ask him a question of his own.  
  
"Do you know what I hate most in this world?"  
  
He shook his head tightly, heart racing.  
  
Jackson paused, then continued calmly, perversely, "Liars. And being lied to."  
  
He felt himself flinching, as Jackson had probably intended. Junior had the sinking feeling that Jackson was the kind of person who didn't forgive easily. He was relentless, like a dog with a bone.  
  
"I know. I mean, I understand. I'm sorry," he found himself babbling desperately, on the verge of breaking down again. "Did you read my messages? I explained everything --"  
  
Jackson cut him off. "I don't know which of your words to believe anymore." The words hit right where it hurt, but he took them humbly, figuring he deserved it.  
  
After that, he would continue trying tirelessly to goad Jackson to talk to him, even though every time he responded, they were only guilt trips of a similar tune. But he didn't mind, as long as Jackson was talking to him, even if he was only hurling insults at him. Anything was better than how Junior felt when he ignored him with that stoic, emotionless face, frighteningly blank like a Kabuki mask.  
  
He felt like they were back at the stalemate he thought they had left behind, all the progress they had made in the past few months undone, all the steps they had taken towards each other. Because Jackson was as mulish, pedantic, headstrong, stubborn and prideful as he was.  
  
  
  
But strangely, he found allies and support in the most unexpected of places. To his surprise and relief, Mark had seemed to come around after the day Junior talked to them. He hadn't intended to milk Mark's pity, but he figured pity was better than nothing. At least they were less awkward again and Mark was slowly starting to talk to him and teach him in the kitchen again now he knew Junior wasn't after his recipe.  
  
"Why are you letting me stay?" he was horrified to found himself blurting one day, voice unsteady and wobbly when JB had run to the storeroom and they were alone in the kitchen for a few minutes. "Why didn't you fire me?" He couldn't believe he was looking a gift horse in the mouth, blurted out the question he had wondered about for so long but never dared to ask.  
  
Mark looked up from the tray of bagels he was working on, and at his face. A streak of flour was dusted across his forehead and Junior felt a fierce pang of affection for him.  
  
"Well..." he started slowly after a moment, abandoning the bagels and moving closer towards Junior seriously. "You're a really talented baker, Junior." His voice was gentle.  
  
Junior flushed with pleasure. He hadn't been expecting a compliment, and this was slightly unbelievable and surreal. He was a competent baker, but he had never deluded himself into thinking he was indispensable to the bakery.  
  
"And more than that..." Mark continued, a small smile creeping onto his lips as he studied Junior, "You're an irreplaceable friend."  
  
He hadn't realised till now that he had teared up, and Mark's kindness only made him cry harder, feel worse. He was so forgiving, so susceptible and trusting. He had shown nothing but kindness to Junior ever since he started working here, diligently and unselfishly imparting all his skills to him without reservation. If Junior wanted any of his secret recipes, he could have effortlessly stolen them all long ago. He wondered how he could have even thought of doing this to Mark, Mark who had become one of his closest friends, his most respected _hyung_ in the past year.  
  
Mark looked concerned as he offered Junior a piece of tissue. "Don't cry," he said softly. "Forget about the past. I've already accepted your apology." He placed a comforting hand on Junior's shoulder as Junior blew his nose loudly.  
  
  
  
JB too, had surprised him. He found Junior in the alley one afternoon, and didn't turn to leave but joined him, leaning against the wall and lighting up a cigarette. He didn't offer Junior one because that was how well he knew Junior by then. Earlier, Jackson had seemed more caustic and abrasive than his usual self today and pointblank refused to talk to Junior even when Junior had to relay something important to him about a customer's special request. In the end, Youngjae had to play the role of messenger and go-between, looking awkward and uncomfortable as Jackson directed his replies to him and though Junior was right there and didn't ask Youngjae to repeat them, Jackson pretended not to hear him when he answered until Youngjae had echoed what he had said. The rest of the staff besides the younger boys had sensed something was up from the tension between them in the past month, but he was relieved that they were tactful enough not to pry and ask questions about it.  
  
Now, JB seemed to sense his distress and the reason transparently. He didn't look at Junior, kindly giving him privacy as he exhaled and stared ahead, but said, "Don't let it get to you. He's just being overdramatic. What's new?"  
  
Junior slouched against the wall and shoved his hands into his pockets, shoulders hunched into himself against the cold. "I just..." he said in a small, tired voice. "It just hurts that he's so _angry_ , you know?"  
  
Now JB did turn to face him, letting the hand holding his cigarette fall to his side. "Jinyoung-ah." He rolled his eyes, but his voice was gentle. "You're too smart not to know that the angrier a person gets, the more it means they care about you."  
  
Junior blinked at him dully, and he sighed. "Have you ever seen anyone getting angry over people they didn't know or care about?"  
  
Junior considered this seriously, then realised the sense behind JB's statement. He felt his heavy heart lifting slightly, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. JB brought his cigarette back up to his mouth, giving him an encouraging smile in return.  
  
"We were angry... because you were worth it," he said quietly. He had never been as vocal to Junior before, as expressive about his emotions, and this was how Junior knew that JB had forgiven him completely too.  
  
"Thanks, hyung," he said, after a while had passed in companionable silence and JB had finished the cigarette, their breaths exhaling puffs of fog in the chilly air. JB smiled and twisted the doorknob, holding the door open for him. "Come in," he said. "It's cold."  
  
  
  
Another time, Yugyeom was the one who surprised him with his maturity and thoughtfulness when he started waiting for Junior before and after work to walk to and from the dorm with him. They wouldn't talk much, huddling into themselves for warmth while striding briskly with their hands shoved into their pockets, but Junior was grateful for Yugyeom's company and his show of allegiance.  
  
After a few days of this, he felt obliged to blurt out, "Yugyeom-ah... I'm sorry."  
  
Yugyeom just looked at him, and nodded, accepting his apology. There was no blame or resentment in his eyes.  
  
"It's fine, hyung. No big deal; you fucked up. We all do sometimes," he said reasonably. "No matter what, you're still our hyung." His last words touched Junior the deepest.  
  
As they stopped at the traffic light across the road from the bakery, Yugyeom looked over at him. "Don't hold it against other two. Bambam is always on Jackson's side, whether he's wrong or right, and Youngjae is always on _his_ side."  
  
Junior quickly shook his head. He could never have the heart to hold anything against the second and third youngest. Anyway, even though they were still distant and awkward with him, neither had ever said anything else to him after that one time. "No..." he murmured, catching a glimpse of Jackson through the glass windows frosted over with a layer of condensation. When Junior wasn't around, he looked less pissed, more like his old self. Vulnerable.  
  
Junior smiled at Yugyeom, chest aching. "I'm actually glad he has people on his side too."  
  
  
  
He spent the rest of the winter filling his notebooks with cliche, bad poetry about heartbreak. When the cold left and spring dawned and Jackson still hadn't forgiven him, Junior felt like something subtle had shifted. He had never given up on fighting for Jackson's forgiveness. But now, Junior thought for the first time that he could finally accept that maybe Jackson was never going to forgive him.  
  
Writing poetry had helped him examine and dissect his feelings about the incident, and Junior had been surprised to find, among all the regret and penitence, an element of relief. Because in some ways, those two blissful months with Jackson after they got together had felt like a dream. They were too perfect to last, to beautiful to be reality. And now, Junior felt the slightest bit relieved that he had proved he wasn't good enough for Jackson. Jackson had worried that he wasn't good enough for Junior, but Junior was the one who didn't deserve him. He never had.  
  
He could finally admit that he had done something that might be unforgivable, and accept his punishment. The last thing he would want to do was to hurt Jackson further by tormenting him, tormenting them both with his presence.  
  
It was sometime at the beginning of the new year when he subconsciously decided to give him one last test, one last farewell. Call it what you want -- perhaps it was just his body acting independently of his mind. Because since the start of their physical relationship, he had always gotten the feeling that their bodies, their dicks were separate creatures from them, seeming almost to love each other more than they loved each other. They argued day and night like cats and dogs, but their bodies never seemed to have anything but desire and craving for each other. Sometimes, he felt that if their bodies belonged to two different people, two people who didn't hate each other as much as they loved each other, they would have been united much earlier.  
  
  
  
He found his feet leading him on the familiar route down the corridor, past two doors to Jackson's closed one. His heart was rushing in his ears, and he felt light-headed and dangerously bold, not like himself. He took a deep breath and raised his fist, knocking on the door.  
  
The moment Jackson opened it, the words started tumbling out of his mouth, helter-skelter, the same words he had been trying valiantly to tell Jackson verbally and by text for the past month, but more. Yes, he knew he had fucked up badly, made a terrible mistake. He was that person who had done all of these things, but he was also this person now, the one Jackson had fallen in love with. He was completely different now, and it was Jackson who had changed him. Everything he had ever said to, everything he had ever felt for Jackson had been true. He deeply regretted the person he had used to be, would change his past if he could. He wasn't a good person, not by a long shot, but Jackson made him want to be the best he could be. He brought out the best in Junior. It sounded like a quote from a Nicholas Sparks novel, but it was true.  
  
Jackson leaned against the doorframe, watched and listened to him quietly as he made a fool of himself, dashing his arms across his uncontrollably leaking eyes. His own eyes were dry and impenetrable. Junior knew that it didn't matter what he said anymore, that it was too late. He just wished he had told Jackson when he could, when he still believed Junior, how Jackson only deserved the most selfless of love, how he was the person in this fucked up world Junior couldn't bear to hurt the most.  
  
Jackson folded his arms over his chest when Junior finally stopped blubbering and fell into a sniffling silence. "Are you done?" was all he said, tonelessly.  
  
Junior nodded, heart sinking like a brick in the ocean as Jackson started closing the door. He quickly placed a hand on the edge to stop it. Jackson stared at him, his eyes hard as nails. "What else do you want?" he said, voice low.  
  
Junior shivered at his glacierlike eyes, looking longingly at the set of sturdy shoulders that he wanted so desperately to rest his weary head against, but he had to remind himself that they no longer belonged to him. Standing in his doorway, Jackson looked so heartwrenchingly beautiful and unattainable.  
  
"I'm leaving," he blurted out softly, the decision not even set in stone until he pronounced the words with his mouth, but once he said it out, he knew it was the right thing to do. For everybody. He had to clear up the mess he had created by disappearing.  
  
Jackson's hand fell from the door. There was a protracted, thick silence before he said, equally softly, "So?"  
  
"I want one last time," he heard himself babbling breathlessly. "Just one night --" His voice choked up with fear of rejection. He didn't know what he was hoping for, if this would only fuck things up more but he was too far gone to care. He knew he had thrown his dignity away, knew from the way Jackson was staring at him incredulously, open-mouthed, his eyes filled with no desire, only disdain and disgust. He didn't know what else to do; he just hated the feeling that he was losing Jackson and couldn't do anything to stop it.  
  
What he felt most regretful about the timing of the revelation was that it had come before he had been able to go all the way with Jackson, possess him completely and be possessed by him. It sounded like a cheap and shallow dilemma, but how could he live with himself for the rest of his life if he went away now without even having sex with Jackson once? If his heart had to lose its other half, then goddammit, his body wouldn't without a fight. How could he accept that the unfairness of the fact that in just one day, he had lost Jackson's adoring, worshipful gaze for good? He had given himself airs, taken it for granted, but now he felt so bereft and abandoned. He had been taught a lesson for being so cocky, now reduced to his basest self, begging on his knees without a single shread of shame or self-respect for Jackson's cock.  
  
"Get up," Jackson hissed furiously, closing a rough hand under his arm and hauling him to his feet from where he had sank to his knees and leaned forward to start mouthing Jackson's cock through his sweatpants. Jackson looked around the corridor quickly, then got in his face and spit out in a harsh whisper, "What the fuck is wrong with you?"  
  
"Please..." His voice caught in a sob. "Just once --" He was begging, but he had never wanted anything more, waited for it so long only to have it dangled tantalizing within reach and then jerked out of his grasp at the last minute.  
  
Jackson's lips curled in a snarl, eyes studying him closely and clinically. "You want me to fuck you goodbye?"  
  
"Yes," Junior gasped, the words spelling out his very deepest desires. "Yesyesyes --"  
  
Jackson dropped his hand from his arm, pity in his eyes. He looked at Junior for a long time, before shaking his head sadly, with what sounded like regret. "Sorry. I don't want to. Not like this."  
  
The words crushed Junior like a pile of rocks dropped on his head, hit him like a bucket of ice water. His face burned. Had Jackson just rejected him, after Junior had thrown himself at him, literally sent himself right up to his door?  
  
"Are you scared?" he heard himself saying in a challenging, goading voice with shock. He watched Jackson's jaw tighten, his shoulders tense up. "Scared that your feelings for me will come back if you fuck me?" He didn't even know what he was saying anymore, just that he wanted to get a reaction, a rise out of him. A saying floated on his mind -- _love and hate are sides of the same coin_. Maybe he just wanted proof, a single shred of evidence that Jackson wasn't as completely neutral and unshakable as he looked, staring Junior down and looking pissed as hell again, taking a step towards him.  
  
He felt a thrill as Jackson grabbed the collar of his shirt, curling his fingers in the fabric. "There's nothing to be scared of," he enunciated, voice low.  
  
"Then prove it," he breathed brazenly, feeling Jackson's hot breaths ghost over his lips, his eyes flickering down like clockwork as Junior slipped his tongue out over his dry lips. Jackson dragged his eyes slowly back up to his, darkened with anger, seeming annoyed that he had been tricked. They were just one breath, one kiss away.  
  
Jackson let go of his shirt, leaning back shakily. He dropped his hand and breathed a humourless, brittle laugh. He gestured to his body, grabbed his crotch unexpectedly.  
  
"Did you want this so badly? My body?" His eyes gleamed as he didn't take them off Junior's, working his fingers over the growing tent of his crotch.  
  
"If this is all you wanted from me," Jackson said hollowly, letting go of his pelvis and pushing Junior backwards, making him nearly stumble, in the direction of his room. "You could've said so." His voice deepened to a growl as they arrived at Junior's room and Jackson reached his arm behind Junior's back to open the door, bringing their faces breathtakingly close. "I would've given it to you." He shoved Junior back, into his room. He struggled to catch his balance, but when he had regained his equilibrium Jackson had locked the door and shoved him onto his bed again.  
  
Jackson looked down at him, eyes glimmering in the dark. He was breathing hard. "You asked for it," he said quietly, almost questioningly, as if trying to reaffirm Junior's certainty, but he was probably thinking too much. "I won't be able to stop later."  
  
Junior was finding it hard to breathe too, almost panting. He had longed for Jackson to assert his dominion over him for so long now, and now all he wanted was for him to fuck Junior insensate, fuck him unconscious, till every muscle of his body was deliciously limp and numb and every inch of his skin was branded by the invisible tattoos of Jackson's touches.  
  
He wanted Jackson to fuck the living daylights out of him, craved and need his cock now more than ever. If Junior's mind and body couldn't forget him, then he wanted Jackson to fuck his mind out of his body. He was reminded of those war couples he had read about in pre-war Victorian novels, who would get married barely into adulthood because their beloved was going off to war and they might never have a chance when they got back, who stole last nights of passion in the face of impending death that they hoped would leave them with at least a piece of their loved one in the form of a child or at least memories of one heated, sacred night if they never returned to their sides.  
  
He took a deep breath and looked up at Jackson, nodding firmly. "I want you to fuck my brains out," he said, voice sounding throaty and sultry, unlike himself. "I want you to fuck me till I pass out."  
  
His words seemed to be an aphrodisiac to Jackson, making his breaths grow more strained as he moved forward, between Junior's legs, nudging his knees apart with a feral smile growing.  
  
"Wreck me," Junior breathed, and that seemed to be all Jackson needed to lose his last reservations.  
  
He inhaled sharply at Junior's words, but continued looking down at him for a minute before moving away, towards the top of his bed. He sat down, swinging his legs up onto the mattress and leaning against the pillows, pulling one knee up invitingly.  
  
"That depends... on whether you can turn me on," he said, smiling tauntingly. Junior felt heat pooling in his groin, toes curling at the condescension in Jackson's voice, the insolence.  
  
He immediately rose to the challenge, though slightly unconfident and fearful that he would fail. He watched desire enter Jackson's eyes as he rolled clumsily onto his hands and knees and crawled over to him on the bed, sweeping his tongue over his lips seductively.  
  
"Strip," Jackson ordered when he was on folded knees in front of him, his voice rough. Jackson shifted his legs, spreading them wider, eyes following Junior's actions silently as he slowly lifted his shirt over his head in a clumsy striptease, then pushed his pants down, kicking them off. Jackson's eyes were aglow, burning with lust as they feasted hungrily on Junior's bare body.  
  
Heart pounding, Junior slipped his thumbs beneath the waistband of his boxers and hesitantly started to lower them over his hipbones. Jackson didn't say anything, but Junior saw his throat work as his eyes moved down to focus on Junior's crotch, his Adam's apple bobbing with an audible dry swallow as Junior's half-hard dick sprang out.  
  
His entire body was blushing feverishly as he struggled to get the boxers off, toeing them off his feet and over the edge of the bed. He was stark naked now, but Jackson was still fully-clothed and didn't look like he had any intention of removing his clothing. Junior felt slightly foolish and humiliated, like Jackson had wanted to see him vulnerable and completely exposed while he sat there and laughed at how turned on Junior was just by being watched by him as he stripped. He felt like a snail without its shell, his body ungainly and lewd, shameless as he drew his knees up to his chest, hid his crotch with his hands; tried to find a position in which he felt less defenseless.  
  
Annoyance crept into Jackson's eyes at his shyness. "I'm still waiting," he snapped impatiently, eyes burning Junior's skin as they tried to find his dick again behind his anguished contortions. Junior felt himself grow harder, more aroused as Jackson reached his hand down to palm his own cock through his pants, rubbing his growing bulge.  
  
But he was the one who shrank back against the headboard, eyes widening as Junior stopped trying to cover his nakedness and crept closer, feeling his dick swinging heavily between his legs, almost hard enough to touch his stomach when he bent his body at the waist. Jackson's pupils were dilated, blown as if the sight of Junior was too much to bear, too blinding to look at.  
  
His breathing harshened as Junior nuzzled his face into Jackson's shoulder, pushing his nose into his collarbone, just revelling in the first time he had been able to touch Jackson's body in more than a month for a few blissful seconds. Beneath his touch, Jackson's body stiffened, feeling strung as tightly as a panther coiled to spring.  
  
"I missed you," he mouthed against Jackson's shoulder, feeling him tremble. "Did you miss me?"  
  
"Shut -- up," Jackson gritted out through clenched teeth with difficulty, gasping, and he obediently fell silent, finding the erogenous zone of the soft skin beneath his earlobe with his tongue and then moving sideways to lick the sheen of sweat which had begun to glisten on Jackson's neck.  
  
Jackson made a noise at the back of his throat that sounded like "Nnngh," his body juddering as Junior slipped his hands smoothly onto his shoulders to hold himself steady as he climbed into Jackson's lap. He was triumphant to feel Jackson's erection, now definitely fully hard, pressing insistently against his ass through the layer of his sweatpants. He let out a low, quickly muffled groan at the way Junior's bare ass chafed against his dick, and Junior could feel his cock throbbing hotly even through the fabric.  
  
He himself was so turned on he could barely think straight, and reflexively he reached down to grab onto his cock with one hand, his other finding purchase on Jackson's shoulder slick with sweat and saliva. But the moment his hand came into contact with his cock, he immediately felt Jackson's strong one closing over it and pulling it roughly away, pinning it behind his back.  
  
"Did I say you could touch yourself?" he asked, voice silky and raw at the same time. "This..." he grazed Junior's swollen dick with a heavy brush of his other hand that made Junior whimper, "is still mine, at least for tonight, right?"  
  
Junior nodded tearfully, feeling Jackson's cock harden further beneath his ass.  
  
"Then don't touch my stuff," Jackson leaned forward and whispered warningly in his ear, voice so deep it made Junior tremble.  
  
He seemed to think it was time for him to take over, keeping Junior's wrist pinned behind his back while his other hand captured his free hand and brought them together. Jackson eased him off his lap, flipping him onto his back and sitting up on his haunches at the foot of Junior's bed. He casually took his shirt off and this time it was Junior's turn to gasp softly at his beefy torso and sculpted abs, breathtakingly broad shoulders tapering down to a narrow waist and strong hips, his powerful thighs visible even through the sweatpants. Jackson looked pointedly down at his dick and smirked, and Junior blushed hotly. All his reactions were painfully clear, his arousal spelled out by his body because he was completely naked and at Jackson's mercy, while Jackson still had at least two layers of clothes to hide behind.  
  
"What did you want to do to me, Junior?" Jackson drawled, placing his hands on Junior's knees and spreading them apart so his dick bobbed in the air so shamelessly that he wanted to cover his eyes. Jackson kept his eyes on Junior's flushed and leaking dick too, grabbing his own crotch again and thrusting a little into his hand. "Did you want to suck this, hmmm?"  
  
"Y-yes," Junior nodded shakily, frantically, watching Jackson's lips curl in approval of his answer. "Please."  
  
He sat back on the foot of the bed, bracing his palms behind him and leaning back again, giving Junior free access to his crotch. "Help yourself," he murmured alluringly, beckoning him with a finger, and Junior gasped at the invitation in his eyes.  
  
He immediately, gracelessly, clambered onto his hands and knees again and crawled forward unsteadily, immediately going down on Jackson's crotch like a starving hyena who had found meat. He fumbled with Jackson's drawstrings, quickly freeing his cock from the confines of his pants and briefs with worshipful hands.  
  
Cupped in his hands, Jackson's cock was moist with precum and engorged, flushed hot with blood. It lengthened and thickened slightly in the circle of Junior's fist, searing his palms like solid fire. He gasped and hurried to push down Jackson's sweatpants further so he could see and touch his entire groin, and felt his pelvis tense beneath Junior's touch with approaching release.  
  
He tugged at Jackson's pubic hair, fondled his testicles lovingly and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the tip of his cock, which jumped in his grip, smearing precum across his lips. Junior started sucking his dick slowly into his mouth, starting from the sensitive head, fastening his lips over it.  
  
He didn't expect him to thrust up suddenly and violently, his mouth sliding down on Jackson's cock and his throat hitting the head as he lost his balance and practically faceplanted in Jackson's crotch. It... wasn't as unsexy as it sounded.  
  
He was still gagging a little, trying his best to be quiet as Jackson hauled him off his dick with his hand in Junior's hair. His face was flushed, eyes glazed over and unfocused as he slurred with little coherence but remarkable authority, "Stop."  
  
This time, Jackson seemed to want to completely take over and leave nothing in Junior's hands as he pushed Junior onto his back again and reared over him, settling between his legs.  
  
He admired the view appreciatively, and Junior felt the humiliation only make him more rock hard. Jackson seemed happy to neglect his own erection as he started working on Junior, eyes caressing his dick and roving lower, zooming in on his hole. Junior felt his legs immediately closing modestly in response, but Jackson's commanding voice stopped him.  
  
"Spread your legs."  
  
Junior obeyed reluctantly, but he didn't seem satisfied.  
  
"Wider."  
  
Junior whimpered and slowly tried to open his thighs, pointing his knees outwards and grabbing his ankles to pull them apart too. He felt stretched apart down below, his hole twitching sensitively and his cock by now in withdrawal. Jackson inhaled sharply, seeming finally satisfied with the sight this provided.  
  
"You're so pretty down here, Junior," Jackson breathed, panting harshly. "Such a pretty pink." His entire lower body bowed off the bed as he felt unexpectedly a light finger tracing his rim.  
  
Jackson looked amused, but his irises were so dark with lust they took up almost his entire pupils. "Turned on just from this? You're so dirty, Jinyoung-ah..." His voice reverberated through Junior's body like an orgasm. He favoured Junior's dick with a fleeting, agonizing caress, before bringing his hand up to his mouth to spit on it.  
  
He watched with wide eyes, entire body quavering as Jackson moved his hand down, then pressed the tip of one spit-slick finger against his entrance. Junior had to clamp his hand over his mouth to stop an ugly sound from escaping when Jackson slid it in, up to one knuckle, then two, then as far as it could go. His other hand tightened over the bedsheet beside him, bunched up in his sticky fingers as he was too afraid of incurring Jackson's wrath to lose his mind and touch himself even though he was in such delirious ecstasy.  
  
"Ah, you're sucking me in so greedily, Jinyoungie..." Jackson continued murmuring in wonder, smile dripping with lewdness. His voice was rough as he pushed another finger in and Junior rolled his hips down slightly, fucking himself down on Jackson's two fingers.  
  
"Damn, how many can you take?" Jackson breathed, sounding genuinely amazed as he easily pressed another finger in. Junior didn't know if he would get angry if he confessed that he had stretched himself out, loosened himself up a little because he hadn't been penetrated in a long time before he went to knock on Jackson's door. He had been that sure, that determined to fuck Jackson tonight that he knew with grim confidence that he would definitely need the preparation.  
  
But Jackson's fingers felt nothing like his, nothing, and not just because of the rings he was wearing that chafed against the sides of Junior's sensitive hole and walls, providing delicious friction with an edge of thrilling pain. Compared to this exquisite divine pleasure, his own fingers felt like cold sausages being shoved up his ass.  
  
Jackson crooked his fingers, and Junior nearly screamed out loud. Thankfully he covered his mouth with both his hands just in time, but their wide eyes met and Jackson's pale face told him how harrowingly close they had come to discovery too. But he didn't berate Junior or allude to it, instead carefully curling his fingers again and finding the same spot with the pads of his fingertips, this time slower so Junior had warning, but it still made his entire body burst into flame.  
  
"You like this?" Jackson asked, sounding almost gentle for the first time that night, and Junior nodded vigorously, throat too thick with tears to speak.  
  
"W-wait!" he managed to gasp out as Jackson slid his fingers out of his ass without ceremony and an obscene squelching sound. He looked like he was about to grab his own painfully hard dick and sink into Junior without further foreplay, but Junior's hoarse, raspy voice stopped him.  
  
"I have lube... and a gag in the drawer," he whispered, eyes gripping Jackson's. "I'm afraid I won't be able to be quiet. Gag me."  
  
The order in his voice, the words seemed to turn Jackson on and annoy him in equal measure. But he didn't say anything and got off the bed with difficulty, both their panting deafening in the silence. He opened the drawer as quietly as he could with a shaking hand and reached in to find the tube of lube and black-coloured gag Junior had prepared and placed there earlier. He had been tactful enough to use a full, new tube, even though the used ones that he had had been used by himself, on himself when he needed some lubrication fingering himself.  
  
Jackson looked down at the gag hesitantly, cluelessly but Junior quickly said, "Don't worry. I'll teach you how to put it on. I've used it before."  
  
This seemed to set Jackson off, sparking his wrath again with renewed fire. "Oh, have you?" His voice was so sarcastic, so mocking, that Junior flushed. He just really didn't want to make another mistake, let slip a careless noise which would expose both of them and complicate things more than they already were, causing trouble for Jackson after he was gone in the form of judgmental gossip and embarrassment with the other boys, even though they pretty much knew that he and Jackson were together long ago and Jackson had made it clear more than once that he didn't care if anybody saw and wasn't ashamed of leaving Junior's room in the mornings. He just thought it might raise awkward questions if Jackson was heard fucking him after he had been giving Junior the silent treatment for the past month.  
  
Jackson sank back down on the bed, unscrewing the lube. He unraveled the fabric of the gag between his hands, stretching it with interest. "Teach me."  
  
Junior swallowed his saliva and tried to take it from him to demonstrate, but Jackson held it out of his reach, refusing to hand it over. So he had no choice but to verbally instruct him, in low tones: "Just twist it into a bunch and let me bite the middle, then tie it behind my head. Tightly."  
  
Jackson clumsily followed his instructions, letting Junior brace his mouth before biting down on the bunched up cloth of the center, swallowing again so his mouth would be dry. He could feel Jackson fastening the knot behind his head with baffling gentleness.  
  
He raised Junior's face up to look at his eyes after he was done. "Okay?" he asked simply, voice low, and Junior nodded.  
  
Jackson reached up to take off his glasses, placing them on the bedside table as if he didn't want Junior to see his expression clearly. Then he pressed one hand on Junior's chest to make him lay down flat on the bed, and mounted him, straddling his thighs, their erections brushing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is dedicated to ny1031 :) honestly istg i have a mini nervous breakdown/crisis between every chapter, esp the later ones, because i don't have the confidence to be able to finish the fic successfully, i get so tired of the characters, sick of my writing, and i think it's natural because this is the longest fic i've ever written in my life. but every time my morale is flagging, i think of how many readers are eagerly awaiting updates and counting on me to finish the fic and it keeps me going. so i really want to thank every single of my readers and commenters and subscribers, no matter vocal or silent, every person who contributed one view to the amazing number of hits this fic is getting. even just one person wanting to read this fic till the end is sufficient motivation for me to finish it. YOU are the reason this fic exists and will be completed ; 3;


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is mature.

His body trembled in anticipation beneath Jackson's, their dicks slick and hot and hard against each other. But instead of being immediately entered, he was stunned to feel a wet droplet plop onto his chest, then two.  
  
He squinted through his myopia, bewildered and panicking, one hand reaching towards the bedside table to fumble for his glasses, but Jackson's swift hand stopped him in mid-reach. Junior heard him take a shuddering, clogged up breath. Worried, he quickly sat up, dislodging Jackson but keeping him from falling out of his lap with a hand on the small of his back.  
  
"I can't do this," Jackson finally choked out, sounding strangled. His body was strung tightly as a rubber band at snapping point, tensed and stiffened against Junior's. "I'm sorry I let this go so far -- but when I heard you were leaving... I just lost my mind for a second there."  
  
Taking advantage of his momentary lapse of concentration, Junior managed to pull out of his grasp and grab his glasses. He clumsily hooked them behind his ears, a little askew but he could finally see Jackson clearly, his eyes still unfocused with lust but red-rimmed, face flushed as anguish battled with want.  
  
He was surprised to feel not only a heavy, sinking disappointment but also the slightest twinge of relief in his heart, although he had been perfectly willing, completely ready just a moment ago. But mostly, he was panicking over what Jackson having second thoughts meant.  
  
As if sensing his fears or reading his silent distress in his face, Jackson looked down as he admitted softly, reluctantly, "I don't want you to leave." The words seemed to take a lot of difficulty to get past his lips, and he flushed angrily, not meeting Junior's searching gaze. He couldn't believe what he had just heard, and his head was spinning, heart threatening to leap out of his throat.  
  
Jackson seemed to be struggling to get his emotions under control too. But after a while, he finally took a deep, shaky breath and lifted his head again. Sitting in this uncomfortable position, their faces were unsettlingly near, and every so often he could still feel Jackson's wilting but still-present erection brushing achingly against his. They were both struggling to converse coherently, hot and shallow breaths fogging up the air between them.  
  
"I really want to fuck you," Jackson continued in that soft, husky voice, his words rough with honesty. "I've waited for... God, a year. But I don't want our first time to be like this. Please." His fingers curled around Junior's bicep in a tight grip, as if pleading as much for Junior to stop as for him to hold him back. For the first time since they had met, Junior was speechless to see him fighting back tears, his brow creasing as he looked at Junior as if it hurt.  
  
He tried to speak before getting a mouthful of fabric and remembering that he was still wearing the gag. That was how out of it he was. Jackson reached out to help him, looking concerned, but his own hands were quicker, his fingers slippery with cold sweat against each other as they undid the knot and finally loosened the cloth from his mouth.  
  
"You... don't want me to leave?" was all he could rasp, blinking dazedly, disbelievingly at Jackson, still unable to process the words he had been dreaming subconsciously of hearing ever since thirty minutes ago when he knocked on Jackson's door and uttered them nonchalantly as though his heart wasn't breaking.  
  
When Jackson shook his head wordlessly, unable to speak, not a single trace of anger or resentment left in his eyes but only the same numbing relief and remorse Junior felt flooding through him, his heart soared to the roof.  
  
Instantly, the guilt and horror hit, crashed over him, as if the person he had been from the time he knocked on Jackson's door till now had been someone else, someone unrecognizable. Like a bolt of lightning, he realised that he felt exactly the same way -- he didn't want their first time to be like this either. Instead of feeling like a dream come true, the moment Jackson pushed him towards his room, it had started feeling like a nightmare. It was just that he thought he had no choice, that it was this or nothing. But even if those were the options, he realised like a bucket of ice water over his head that he would, actually, rather take nothing.  
  
It was true that he had waited so long -- but this wasn't what he had waited for. He hadn't been waiting for meaningless, emotionless sex, he had been waiting for lovemaking. And what they had been doing up till a minute ago -- wasn't lovemaking in any way. Nothing about it had felt right, but more and more like a mistake he would regret forever. He was no stranger to that horrid feeling, that ominous premonition even while you were doing something, that you would regret it bitterly, painfully later, knowing you were heading straight into the heart of catastrophe and yet helplessly unable to stop, going through the motions to the inevitably disastrous end.  
  
He felt guilt-stricken at trying to test Jackson, to manipulate him when he knew they were both feeling so unstable, irrational, vulnerable; knowing that Jackson's weakness was never being able to say no to him, knowing he was Jackson's only Achilles' heel and taking advantage of how malleable he had always been, putty in Junior's hands. He had selfishly wanted to confirm, wanted to prove that he could still twist Jackson around his little finger, but he had gained no pleasure in finding out this was still true.  
  
Just like Jackson, he had momentarily lost his mind too, blinded by lust, by the fear of losing him, by love, when he panicked to think he might lose everything. Because somewhere along the way, Jackson had become his everything. He had wanted him to fuck Junior into forgetting the hopeless situation they were trapped in, just for a little while, to screw him until his mind left his body. He had hoped he would leave visible traces of his passion, his presence, to comfort him after they were no longer together in the form of memories.  
  
Just for a few moments of pleasure, he had stupidly thought of throwing away, of sullying the entire year's worth of sweet and pristine memories they had shared, taint the healthy relationship they had painstakingly built up. He coudn't believe he had been so impulsive, so embarrassingly juvenile and childish, like a spoilt child insisting on having a toy.  
  
But now, he realised with startling clarity, that even if Jackson hadn't forgiven him and asked him not to leave, he still would not want their first time to be this way. He would rather not have a first time at all, if it had to.  
  
Because he knew now that if they had gone ahead, it would turn out to be something that would make Jackson resent him later for, make them hate each other, cause them wounds and scars that would never be healed or fade. He felt himself shaking in relief that he had come so close to doing something that could have wrecked their entire precious relationship again, felt like he was standing at the edge of a precipice peering down into the yawning cavern and Jackson had hauled him back onto cold hard ground in the nick of time.  
  
  
  
Jackson's voice brought him out of his furiously racing thoughts. Junior blinked out of his stunned daze to see him looking contrite and equally guilt-stricken as he felt for some reason.  
  
"It killed me to be so cruel to you," he was saying quietly. "But it hurt more to know I was making you feel like you deserved it."  
  
Junior blinked, finding his rusty voice. "I don't?"  
  
"No! God, no." Jackson closed his eyes, as if in pain. "I was just... being a stubborn ass. My pride refused to allow me to admit I had forgiven you long ago."  
  
Junior's heart drummed in his chest, Jackson's forgiveness still surreal to hear. He couldn't believe his sheer luck, that just when he had given up on Jackson ever forgiving him, his forgiveness had fallen into Junior's lap like a gift dropped from the heavens.  
  
"Jackson..." His voice broke with emotion. "Thank you."  
  
Jackson shook his head furiously, but this time the anger was obviously directed at himself. "When you knocked on my door and I saw the state you were in... I realised I had gone too far. I had broken you, turned you into a mess, made you do things that were painful to see. Junior..." He gently took Junior's hand, their dicks by now completely flaccid and their desire long forgotten, overshadowed by the sheer relief paling both their faces at what they had nearly lost and destroyed with their carelessness.  
  
Junior gazed at him quietly, questioningly.  
  
Jackson said seriously, "Promise me you'll always love yourself from now on, and don't ever break that promise, not for anybody, not even me."  
  
Junior gulped, the red warming his cheeks less from shame than deeply moved gratitude. Jackson was the first person who had ever treated him like a million bucks, and made him feel like he deserved to be loved and treasured.  
  
He hurriedly nodded, lowering his eyes shyly from his intent, pressing gaze. "I'll try."  
  
He was still slightly shell-shocked at how he had prepared for tonight expecting it to be a goodbye, but Jackson had turned the end he had been bracing himself for into a beginning. He couldn't help marvelling at how no matter how valiantly he always tried to manipulate situations into the way he wanted them to play out, Jackson was always the one who turned the tables on him in the end, making his plans fail miserably. And that was why he had fallen in love with Jackson -- because he was one of the few people in the world Junior couldn't read, couldn't predict or anticipate his next move. And that was such a thrilling novelty to him.  
  
Yet again, Jackson had rescued him from making a mistake, both figuratively and literally. Sure, he was aware that Jackson had crossed the line too with his callousness, that he had treated Junior worse than he deserved, but he found it easy to forgive Jackson for how rudely pissed he had been for the past month after he had apologised and admitted to his mistake. It was hard to bear a grudge against Jackson, no matter how hard he tried, because just like Junior was his weakness, Jackson would always be Junior's Achilles' heel, his downfall and his undoing. The softest spot of him.  
  
It was more than he had expected, hoped for that they could make up and reconcile without hurting each other further, that they could both take one step forward and agree to let bygones be bygones. Now, he just felt that they both had to let go of their guilt towards each other, stop trying to separate and proportion out the blame because there was no innocent party here. They had cut each other on their jagged edges because they had fallen in love too carelessly, too dangerously; because they were similar in too many ways and yet had daringly fallen in love anyway, choosing not to heed the saying opposites attract. This was the price they had to pay for wanting to love each other despite being aggressively unsuited for each other, despite the universe conspiring against them at every turn. It felt sinful, immoral, and yet Junior had never felt anything so perfectly right as being steeped in this sin.  
  
Still, he felt overwhelmingly grateful to Jackson for always playing the role of his compass, lighting his way. For a while he had been misguided, but he knew now, could see from his steady and unwavering eyes, shining with tears as he caressed Junior's face, that Jackson had never stopped loving him. He had loved Junior when he was right, and loved him even more when he was wrong. He knew this with unshakable certainty, from the hesitance and tremulous hope shaking Jackson's voice as he asked softly, "Jinyoung... will you forgive me?"  
  
  
  
When he nodded quietly and smiled, Jackson's answering smile was searingly bright. He hadn't even managed to get laid as he had planned to tonight but just Jackson grinning wildly at him across the breadth of the bed, his eyes filled with the familiar and missed love that made Junior's heart skip a beat, already made this night feel like the happiest in his whole life.  
  
Which... actually reminded him of the awkward fact that he was still naked. And they were sitting in a bed together. Alone, in his room. In love.  
  
His eyes unconsciously moved down to his crotch, relieved to see his erection now limp and peaceful. But his dick twitched visibly as he looked up to see Jackson's eyes following the direction of his gaze, widening and darkening as the same realisation hit him. Junior blushed blotchily, but tried to disguise his embarrassment with a coy, seductive smirk and flirtatious eyebrow lift.  
  
"The silver lining in the cloud is... I've heard make-up sex is amazing."  
  
Jackson groaned, covering his reddening face with his hands. "I'm feeling the pressure," he said, voice deep with his old note of sarcasm.  
  
Junior let his smirk grow, reaching out boldly to squeeze Jackson's crotch. Jackson didn't stop him, his dick stirring with hungry excitement under the deft massage of Junior's fingers.  
  
"I don't think you'll have a problem with that," Junior simpered, voice dripping with sex. Jackson made a muffled noise in the back of his throat.  
  
His breathing quickened audibly, but he placed a firm hand on Junior's arm to pause his progress, eyes searching his deeply. "Are you sure?" he asked, voice low. He looked uncharacteristically and comically serious.  
  
Junior grabbed his cock with his other hand, boldly disobeying Jackson's much-earlier command. Jackson didn't say a word, but his smile widened with approval, eyes sharpening as Junior casually stroked himself to medium hardness. He reached out a trembling hand, tentatively as if he was afraid Junior would push him away, to his lips and tenderly traced Junior's lips with his fingers. Junior breathed harshly, flicking his tongue out to lick Jackson's fingers, trying to suck them into his mouth. They tasted divine.  
  
"Fuck me up," he breathed in his sultry voice, the words garbled and thickened by his tongue swirling around Jackson's fingers.  
It was enough to make all the defenses in Jackson's eyes go down, his hand flashing before Junior's face as he pulled out of his mouth and reached up to snatch his glasses off, then sealed off the protests starting to flow from Junior's open mouth with his lips attacking Junior's, starting to kiss him voraciously, with a month's worth of pent-up hunger. The kiss was brief but savage and satisfying, as they both wanted to get down to the business they had been interrupted in half an hour ago. There would be more time for kissing... later. Now, it was the time for Junior's hands on the waistband of Jackson's sweatpants, fumbling clumsily as he pushed them down, his other hand finding breathlessly the hard tent of Jackson's clothed crotch and kneading it to full rigidity. Jackson thrust into his palm, panting loudly.  
  
"Wait!" he gasped, just as he had managed to work Jackson's pants and underwear down, pushing it with difficulty over his now ready-to-go erection. He fumbled blindly behind him, hands searching the creased and twisted up sheets for the gag.  
  
Jackson looked reluctant and frustrated by yet another delay, but Junior warned, "I wasn't kidding when I said I couldn't stay quiet. I'm kind of... noisy in bed." He blushed at the glint of interest that sparkled in Jackson's eyes.  
  
"Okay, baby," he drawled breathily, looping it around Junior's head with more skill than the first time (it was kinda hot) and letting him bite it before he could reply. "Just because you look hot wearing it." Jackson winked at him greasily as he garbled an answer through the gag, eyes flashing with frustration at the way it silenced him.  
  
Neither of them felt like wasting much more time on banter or foreplay after that. They had been doing it since the day they met a year ago, after all. Instead, they leapt right into it, enthusiastically and ungracefully, unromantically but breathlessly. The "make-up sex" effect and their disagreement and reconciliation seemed to have an aphrodisiacal effect on Jackson, turning him on more. The head of his cock glistened with precum between his muscular thighs after Junior had pushed his pants and boxers halfway down his thighs, enough for him to get a full and unobstructed view of the glorious sight that made his saliva water in his mouth, dampening the gag.  
  
He watched in lusty silence, resisting the urge to touch himself again as Jackson kept his eyes mischievously on his as he upturned the tube of lube and let it trickle generously over his fingers, then slowly, with smooth strokes, slicked his cock up, as if he knew how much it was torturing Junior to watch. His breathing grew harsh, whether deliberately or not Junior couldn't tell, but his cock didn't lie as it stiffened visibly after his lubricating. If Junior wasn't wearing the gag, he would have a smart-ass remark to make about trusting Jackson to be so turned on by his own hand because he was a shameless narcissist and probably would fuck himself if given the chance.  
  
Next, Jackson smiled wolfishly and pushed him onto his back, gently resting Junior's head against the pillows. He placed his hands on Junior's knees to spread his legs and advanced slowly between them, till he was braced over Junior and Junior felt his taut stomach brushing against the sensitive, leaking head of his own dick, then Jackson's own dick sliding against his, making hot white flash across his mind for a second. He tried to keep still but his entire body was trembling with need, with impatience.  
  
Jackson was shaking with desire too, his hands unsteady as he dragged them insolently down the insides of Junior's thighs, his admiring touch setting Junior's skin ablaze. Junior temporarily wished he hadn't insisted on wearing the gag when Jackson continued his teasing touches, and he closed his thighs a little, tightening his muscles with outrage at Jackson's dithering. Jackson looked up at him from between his legs, eyes hazy and smile positively violating.  
  
At Junior's silent glare, he seemed to give up tormenting them both further and carefully inched his body upwards till his erection was between Junior's spread thighs, the tip smearing precum over them. Jackson let out a low groan beside Junior's ear, his face buried in the junction of his neck and shoulder, and reached a hand down to guide his cock towards Junior's entrance. Junior was breathing hard, his heart pumping wildly as he spread his legs wider, feeling his hole twitch as the head of Jackson's hot, swollen cock found it and nudged against his rim.  
  
Jackson lined himself up, breaching him a little without difficulty from how much they had already stretched him out earlier. He hissed out an exhale at the sensation of Junior's ass enveloping the tip of his cock, and Junior held his breath as he felt Jackson slipping in agonizingly slowly, his ass opening up slowly, Jackson's hands moving down the swell of his hips to find his cheeks and his fingers gripping them to spread them further apart, helping him to slide more easily into Junior.  
  
He felt Jackson's cock splitting him open, feeling so blisteringly hot and huge within him that he couldn't move, could hardly breathe. Even with all the preparation and the lubricant, Jackson was bigger than he had expected, more difficult to ease in completely. And every inch more he entered Junior, he only seemed to grow in size, making an agonized, muffled groan stretch slowly from his lips as they both froze in place, moving only by millimetres. The friction was unbearable, driving him out of his mind. His thighs were quivering, all the pain and sensation and pleasure concentrated in that one spot between his legs where Jackson was driving relentlessly in like a stake impaled right through his center, drilling him open from the inside.  
  
"F-fuck, Jinyoung," Jackson swore under his breath, sounding surprised too at the burn and stretch. For someone who wasn't a stranger to gay sex, he was sure acting like it was his first time -- at this thought, Junior felt his stomach tighten and his lower body tighten instinctively over Jackson, making him stop with a sharp gasp and stiffen further within him at the hot pressure. "Babe, relax," Jackson muttered in his ear, sounding like he was on the verge of just making a violent thrust in already to bottom out fully. Junior thought he might prefer that too, but his throat closed up at how Jackson was trying to ease him into it, being so considerate even though it was obviously agony for him too, because he didn't want to hurt Junior.  
  
So he tried to take slow and even breaths, spread his quavering thighs wider to let Jackson sink in deeper, loosening all his resistances, accepting the foreign and intrusive organ pushing into him, tearing him apart, new but familiar at the same time, deliriously pleasurable and dizzyingly intimate under all the discomfort. He locked his legs behind Jackson's back and the movement allowed him to finally slide into place, completely sheathed with a fullness that took both their breaths away. Their breaths steamed up the air between them, their lips merely an inch away and it belatedly occured to him from Jackson's longing and hooded eyes that he might have wanted to kiss him. But he was relieved for the gag because it had muffled all his uncontrollable moans so far. He wouldn't want anyone to hear and come knocking on their door at this life-changing moment.  
  
Jackson was being remarkably quiet too, but he soon discovered with satisfaction that this was not out of any unflappable composure when he couldn't help writhing a little beneath him, making him choke back a cry and make an uncontrollable dry thrust forward, hitting a spot inside Junior that made him bite down on the gag. Jackson quickly regained control of himself, raising his head a little to peer into Junior's eyes with concern, one shaky hand smoothing his matted hair back. "You okay?" he mouthed, eyes tight with concern, and Junior nodded, feeling Jackson burn hotter within him, the thrust only bringing him impossibly deeper, now balls deep. Junior wondered how long he would be able to stay still, because he himself felt dangerously close -- not long, he guessed thankfully from how Jackson squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw, beads of sweat trickling down his temples.  
  
But still, he was the consummate lover, keeping himself still with an effort, his body tense and stiff like a plank above Junior, inside Junior, before he ascertained, voice low and hoarse, "Ready?"  
  
Junior nodded tightly too, shifting a little to accomodate his length and body more comfortably. Jackson's eyes met his wordlessly, and he saw the surprise in his own reflected in them. They both couldn't not notice how -- how miraculously, unexpectedly and breathtakingly perfectly their bodies fit together, like a glove, like jigsaw pieces aligning. It was a perfection that felt too flawless to be man-made.  
  
Even after he had given him the green light, Jackson still seemed to be forcing himself to take it slow, trying to hold himself back from entirely losing control as he slowly started rocking into Junior, his thrusts deep and wracking his entire body but paced rhythmically. As they intensified, he felt Jackson unravelling into strong, sharp thrusts which found his prostate, then started assaulting it pleasurably. Desire pervaded him. Behind the gag, he couldn't help letting out an animalistic, primal-sounding keen. It came out muffled, but Jackson seemed to be the only one able to hear clearly as Junior caught a glimpse of his stricken eyes. His muzzled moans, the little noises he made being forced to breathe through his nose seemed to be an arousal to Jackson, his thrusts turning sporadic, brutal, punishing.  
  
Junior let him take what he needed, clawing blunt fingernails down Jackson's back and feeling his own bursting dick growing and leaking rapidly between their pelvises and stomachs as Jackson pounded into his sweet spot repeatedly, milking out grunts of pleasure from him. He wanted to reach between them and touch himself, but Jackson had swept them up into such a powerful, demanding rhythm that it was all he could do to cling on to him for fear of losing himself to it.  
  
He felt Jackson's body stiffen up with impending orgasm before he started spiralling down into it, his cock growing heavier with the load as he made one last clumsy thrust and shattered into climax when he hit Junior's depths again, spilling hotly within him. Jackson's body shuddered as he rode out his orgasm in shallowing thrusts, the bedframe creaking beneath them.  
  
They both abruptly froze as another creak drifted through the wall from a neighbouring room, either a door opening or just the water pipes contracting from the temperature in the night. Junior passionately hoped it was the latter as he met Jackson's wide eyes. A few seconds passed in which they both continued to be paralyzed in the same position, Jackson still buried inside Junior, his come leaking hotly from the sides of Junior's asshole, around his length and trickling down Junior's thighs.  
  
His entire body jumped when he felt a hand closing around his still-hard dick, between their bodies. Jackson curled his fingers with care around Junior's dick, then in the silence after the creak slowly drew Junior's attention back to him, making him stifle a painful moan as Jackson worked his fingers with purpose over Junior's still-hard cock, as if displeasured that Junior's eyes had flickered towards the wall, his thoughts away from Jackson for a minute.  
  
In a minute, Junior was coming messily and unstoppably over Jackson's skilful fingers, Jackson's name on his lips. Jackson looked satisfied, trailing his cum-slick finger playfully down Junior's torso and tweaking his nipple to elicit a soft squeak from his lips, but he still didn't pull out.  
  
  
  
Junior thought that since they had both come, everything was over. He didn't expect for Jackson's hands to move down, coming to rest on his asscheeks again, then one of them sliding up behind his back and the other moving to the centre of his ass to support his lower body. He gasped in surprise and arousal as, still remaining inside him, Jackson stood up with difficulty, and he instinctively wrapped his legs around Jackson's hips, his cock sliding a little out of Junior with the movement, slippery and loosened with cum.  
Junior locked his hands around Jackson's neck, admiring the veins popping on the length of his thick, wiry arms as he hoisted Junior up effortlessly, his biceps rippling around Junior's torso and his abdominal muscles against his pelvis.  
  
Jackson held him with careful hands, moving with care so their connection wouldn't break. It felt sublime, indescribable feeling Jackson's movements from the inside, resonating and reverberating through his dick, feeling it harden in response as the movement made Junior's groin clench around him again. He felt his own dick rise with interest, and Jackson looked down at it and smirked at him with bedroom eyes.  
  
Junior realised what he was trying to do when Jackson tenderly laid him down on the floor of his bedroom, clumsily sprawling over him, his dick sliding out of Junior a little more, but quickly rectified as he made a shallow thrust that slid him in again. Junior looked adoringly up at Jackson, braced breathlessly above him, and tried to draw him closer with his arms around his neck but Jackson strained back, trying to pull out instead.  
  
"Isn't it uncomfortable?" he whispered, voice husky and slurring at the end when Junior twisted beneath him. "Let me go and get a blanket for you to lie on."  
  
Junior whined and shook his head furiously, although the floor was cold and hard against his back, the knobs of his spine painful against it. Jackson reached up to loosen his gag and he swallowed back the excess saliva before whimpering in a used voice, "I'm fine. Don't go."  
  
Jackson looked reluctant, but his eyes softened as he stopped resisting and stroked Junior's bangs out of his eyes. "Okay," he murmured soothingly. "Shush. I'm not going anywhere."  
  
Before Jackson could refasten his gag, Junior forestalled him this time, starting to make the softest mewling, purring and snuffling sounds, almost inaudible, almost able to pass off as unconscious. But as he had calculated, they seemed to go straight to Jackson's dick, the length of his body rippling over Junior's as his eyes widened, then darkened with lust and his dick swelled within Junior's tightness. Jackson groaned in agony and his hands tightened around Junior, cock seeming to grow hotter. "Stop," he hissed, hands moving uselessly over Junior's sides.  
  
When he didn't, Jackson glared at him with blown eyes and clumsily resecured the gag. Junior's cat noises seemed to have successfully revived his erection again and he enthusiastically shimmied his body down on Jackson's cock, revelling in the way their pelvises squelched together with slick skin slapping sounds. Jackson inhaled at his lewdness.  
  
He was aching with desire, burning up with it again in minutes as Jackson worked up a sweltering, pounding rhythm again. His thrusts were so powerful, every one made Junior's back skid a few inches over the floor.Their bodies glided against each other, friction smoothened by sweat which made them scrabble for leverage. Jackson grabbed his ankles and hooked Junior's legs over his shoulders, his hands moving to lift Junior's ass off the floor and fit it into the curve of his pelvis as he leaned forward to thrust deeper, lifting Junior's lower body off the floor with each successive thrust. But when Junior muffled a groan of pain at his head and shoulders hitting the floor, Jackson quickly lowered his legs off his shoulders again.  
  
"Jinyoung..." he murmured beside Junior's ear after a while, hand cradling the back of his head to raise him into a slightly sitting posture, and he looked up to follow Jackson's gaze towards his full-length mirror standing against the wall. Jackson reached up with one hand to take his chin and make him look clearly. "See how good you look under me, with my cock inside you." Junior caught sight of both of them in the mirror, his inky hair brushing against Jackson's blond, black against white. The almost aesthetic contrast, the way he looked, wrecked and fucked into a red-faced, drugged-eyed, swollen-lipped mess made him blush and squirm away from their reflections. He couldn't forget how shockingly wanton he looked in the mirror, how much sexier than he had imagined he could ever be. Hysterically, he thought that he would want to fuck a guy like himself if he saw him in the street too.  
  
Jackson took his chin again, and moved his face to look down, his hand sliding down Junior's torso slowly and caressingly towards where he was slamming into Junior in long, slow sweet thrusts, drawing out the spaces between them as he dragged his cock out to the tip and then snapped his hips forward again. He paused at the end of a thrust with difficulty and traced with a finger the base of his cock, where they were joined. Junior felt his entire pelvis jerk up at Jackson's fingernail scraping his sensitive, fucked-raw rim.  
  
"I want you to see how you suck me in," he whispered perversely in Junior's ear, deep voice hypnotic as he pulled out and bucked his hips forward again in a swift and potent thrust. "Ahh!" Junior gasped out through the gag, eyes fixed on Jackson's cock disappearing into him, his own erection only growing more painful. He reached up helplessly to wrap his hand around his cock, gasping for air as he jerked himself off with rough, sloppy and frantic strokes as Jackson continued to cant into him, coming embarrassingly quickly and decorating Jackson's chest and stomach with ribbons of white.  
  
His face as he climaxed seemed to turn Jackson on more, and he had barely come down from his high and stopped convulsing with pleasure when Jackson grabbed his body with both hands on either side of his hips, and turned him around completely onto his stomach, without ever pulling out. The sheer friction of Jackson's cock making an almost hundred and eighty degree turn within him was enough to make him fall apart, thrashing beneath Jackson until Jackson gripped his hips again and pulled his lower body up, Junior's hands splaying on the floor beside his face to support himself as Jackson fucked him on his knees this time, holding his ass so it bobbed higher behind him, grinding his pelvis against it and rolling his hips into Junior so his cock hit him at an angle it had never found before.  
  
Junior found himself arching his back in pleasure, pushing his hips to fuck back against Jackson, relishing the filthy slapping sounds when their bodies collided. Jackson still hadn't come yet but he seemed precariously close, his thrusts getting deeper and more irregular, a guttural groan sounding from the depths of his chest. Cum and precum dripped from his cock, down Junior's thighs when he pulled out and sank in again, drawing sharp ugly cries out of Junior's gagged mouth. Once he managed to find that spot that made Junior's entire body clench up with sheer pleasure, he hammered into it again and again with the blunt head of his cock, relentlessly.  
Junior felt his thighs shaking as his strength dwindled, weakened by the pre-orgasmic numbness spreading through his lower body. He couldn't believe he was close to coming again, just from being fucked from the back. He dared to raise his head from the floor, twisting his neck up to look at their reflections in the mirror again and caught a thrilling glimpse of Jackson's face flushed with exertion, looking more undone and wrecked than Junior had ever seen him before too. But when Jackson caught him looking, he grew more crimson with embarrassment and quickly wrestled Junior's shoulders down beneath him, into a submissive position, pinning him down with an elbow locked over his back. Junior found his face ground into the floor in the most erotic way possible -- just the thought of Jackson fucking him into the ground with his ass in the air made his hand reach out for one of Jackson's and guide it to his straining cock which Jackson obligingly started helping him jerk off, his own cock seeming to harden within Junior at the contact.  
  
He was on the verge of orgasm, teetering on the edge, when he felt the scrape of teeth against his neck and gasped, skin tingling. The next second, Jackson had sunk his teeth into the delicate skin of his shoulder, making what Junior would later twist his body to see in the mirror and find a set of perfect teeth marks. To his dismay, the marks would be partially visible even beneath the collar of his uniform, making him have to desperately pile on layers of concealer to attempt to cover them.  
  
But right now, he wasn't thinking of all that. All he could focus on was the amazing mixture of pain and pleasure Jackson's mouth on his shoulder and his hips driving into Junior's ass from behind, hipbones slamming bruisingly into his body, combining into an inseparable and indefinable kind of pleasure that made him explode into uncontrollable orgasm again. Jackson finally came too, inside and spilling out of him, then collapsed above him, his chest heaving wildly against Junior's back. Even though they had had more than two rounds of sex, and he felt exhausted and drained and all wrung out, it felt like it had passed only too quickly. He wished he could have halted time, concentrated on not only the moments of unbridled passion but also fleeting tenderness which took his breath away, so he could file them away to replay later. He felt completely satiated for the first time in a month, like they had fucked out all the repressed tension and pent-up aggression simmering inside their bodies.  
  
He was too lazy and strengthless to move, feeling submerged in bliss, until Jackson gently rolled him over and slid his arms beneath Junior's knees and his back, sweeping him up into his arms and carrying him back to the bed. He laid him down carefully and leaned over him, fluffing the pillows up behind his head and pulling the covers gently over his bare body. He reached up to untie the gag from around his head, damp with saliva and bitten into a tangle by his teeth. Junior sprawled indolently against the pillows, positively wallowing in post-coital bliss as Jackson looked down at him, eyes dark with possession.  
  
He sat down on the bed beside Junior, making it dip with the familiar weight of both of them he had so missed. He scooted over beside Junior, pulling Junior's head into the hollow of his neck and shoulder and holding it there with one hand on his ear. The other wound around Junior's shoulder, caressing his skin.  
  
"So..." Jackson started, and Junior could hear his sexy post-sex voice rumbling through his chest. "Remember when I said I could live without you?"  
  
Junior's heart clenched at the memory.  
  
"I lied," Jackson said softly.  
  
"So..." he went on, when Junior was too overcome to reply, "I guess we're even now." He couldn't see Jackson's face, but he heard with a missed beat of his heart a smile in his voice.  
  
"God, I missed you," Jackson groaned softly but impassionedly, burying his nose in Junior's hair and inhaling greedily. "Even your smart mouth."  
  
Junior pouted, even though Jackson couldn't see him. "You sure didn't act like it," he muttered snidely, and felt Jackson stiffen with indignance below him.  
  
"Don't sass me," he warned, but there was no bite in his words. Junior snuggled closer to him, ingratiatingly and Jackson lovingly melted against his body, wrapping a tighter arm around his frame.  
  
"Are you still going to leave?" he piped up after a moment, sounding touchingly insecure and worried.  
  
"Of course not!" he hastened to reassure Jackson, then hesitated before adding more softly, "I'm sorry for everything."  
  
Junior felt laughter rumble through Jackson's body. "It's alright. I'll just have to punish you." His voice held a hint of mischief.  
  
"How?" Junior took the bait, burying his grin in Jackson's shoulder.  
  
Jackson lowered his face, pressing his lips against Junior's forehead in a brief, chaste kiss. He replied softly, "I'll punish you to stay by my side forever."  
  
  
  
"Don't cry. It breaks my heart." Jackson gathered him into his arms when he started tearing up again uncontrollably. It was ridiculous that his eyes had become like faulty faucets ever since he started working in the bakery, especially since he used to be tough as nails, the kind of street kid who never cried even when watching the saddest of tearjerkers.  
  
Junior dried his tears, and sniffled, nuzzling into Jackson's bare chest. He held Junior's head closer, then took Junior's face with both his hands, wiping beneath his eyes with his thumbs and planting a sweet kiss on his surprised lips.  
  
"Zhenrong," Jackson said gently, lapsing into soft-spoken Chinese, " _Jianqiang yidian, yonggan yidian, hao bu hao?_ "  
  
He looked surprised when Junior nodded in comprehension, then disbelieving. "You... learnt Chinese?"  
  
"For you," Junior smiled, and Jackson blushed.  
  
" _Ge_ ," he said in halting, shy Mandarin. " _Wo... wo ai ni_."  
  
The grin that broke across Jackson's face was breathtaking.  
  
"I love you too?" he attempted in unconfident Korean, and though it didn't come as a surprise to Junior, it still made his heart melt to hear Jackson confessing to him in his mother tongue for the first time. Jackson sounded good speaking Korean. Junior wished he would speak it more.  
  
He cuddled Junior to his body like Junior was a body pillow. "Let me take care of you from now on," he whispered, melting into a pleased smile when Junior nodded. He thought of this wild and unbelievable journey he had embarked upon ever since the first day he met Jackson, arriving at the bakery with literally nothing more than the clothes on his back and an ambition that he couldn't reveal. Even then, even through all his subterfuge and avoidance, Jackson had seen through all his disguises to the real him.  
  
He had thought his stay would only be temporary, that it had been a curse to be discovered by Jackson, Jackson who liked to act tough and was blustery and short-tempered and prickly as a porcupine. But it had turned out to be the greatest blessing. He had thought himself to be corrupted beyond redemption, but even when he had given up on himself, Jackson hadn't given up on him. He had been the one who painstakingly reformed him. Just like when Junior had knocked on his door the night before expecting to find an end, Jackson had shown him that it was only just the beginning.  
  
Abruptly, he remembered something, and made a feeble attempt to climb off the bed. Jackson's arm locked him to his side with concern as he murmured in his ear, "What do you want? I'll get it for you. You're still sore."  
  
Junior blushed and pointed at the Rilakkuma body pillow propped up on an armchair by the wall, watching them with unseeing eyes. It had witnessed so many heated nights of passion as well as lonely, tear-soaked ones, without extending judgment. He felt such an affinity and companionship with it, as if it were a friend. So many times he had punched it after having barbed exchanges with Jackson, and so many times his heart had just ached from glimpsing its innocent face.  
  
Jackson muffled a groan in his collarbone. "I swear, you and that fucking plushie..." he muttered darkly under his breath, sounding pained. "Looking at it just reminds me of how many nights I jerked off thinking of you hugging it in your room and feeling so damn pathetic I disgusted myself."  
  
Junior was scandalized. "Oh my god, how could you defile my innocent plushie like that?"  
  
In a flash, Jackson had wrestled him beneath him, climbing over his body and pinning his hips down with his weight. "Continue being so cute and I'll defile you," he threatened, voice low and warning.  
  
Junior giggled giddily. "I'm a pain in the ass, aren't I?" he asked half-apologetically, half-cheekily as Jackson slid back in beside him again, rumpled and warm as he absently drew the covers up over Junior's shoulders, tucking him in.  
  
Jackson didn't disagree. "You're a pain in the ass, but you're _my_ pain in the ass," he pronounced.  
  
Junior pouted at his honesty. "Then why do you put up with me?" he huffed.  
  
"Junior." Jackson sounded incredulous. He gestured towards the mirror. "Have you _seen_ yourself? You're so fucking hot, even if you were a total douchebag I would still be half in love with you."  
  
  
  
By that time, it was already the first few hours of dawn when the sky was still midnight-black. He must have drifted off to sleep in Jackson's embrace, because when he woke up he could see the sun rising in the horizon, pink light slanting through the window and Jackson was leaning out of it with his elbows braced on the ledge, tapping ashes from the cigarette he was smoking. His back was facing Junior and for a moment Junior didn't let him know he had woken up yet, just watching the way the amethyst rays filtered through his blond strands, the powerful yet graceful built of his topless body, sweats slung low over his hips. The weather was unseasonably perfect, a balmy spring breeze ruffling the gauzy curtain slightly, or maybe it was just his mood that made everything seem so lovely.  
  
For a moment he just studied the vulnerable nape of Jackson's neck, that part of the body that always looked so exposed and delicate for some reason. He thought of how Jackson was both fragile and breakable as glass and strong as steel at the same time, a conflicting paradox that never failed to confound him, the playground he would always run around in.  
  
Nothing about Jackson was easy. But everything about him was worth it. And Junior knew, as Jackson finished the cigarette and turned around slowly, a smile of pure happiness creeping onto his face when he saw Junior awake, that he wanted to spend the rest of his life painstakingly loving him.  
  
  
x  
  
  
They were originally supposed to go car-hunting on the day Jackson told them the news, or more like burst into the kitchen the moment he arrived at work, early. They knew something was up already then since Jackson was never early for work. He was sweating, and his lips were a pinched white line of anger, upset in a way JB had never seen him lose his seemingly unflappable composure before. But it seemed to concern Mark, who placed an apprehensive hand on his shoulder and talked him gently into speaking slower.  
  
Junior didn't know, but they had seriously discussed laying him off. In the end, he had told Mark that he should call the shots and JB would respect his decision fully. He felt that it should be Mark who decided because Mark was the one who had hired Junior, who the secret recipe had belonged to. He already felt guilty enough not checking up sufficiently on Junior's background before he brought him into the bakery and asked Mark if they could hire him, trusting him merely based on the fact that he seemed trustworthy and they were both Korean. Now, he didn't want Mark to think he was siding with Junior over him in any way.  
  
But when Mark told him he had decided to give Junior another chance, he had felt inordinately relieved. Mark seemed relieved too, and explained that he had come to think of Junior as an irreplaceable part of the bakery. JB was thankful to be able to finally vocalize his agreement. When Junior apprehensively asked why, more than once as if he couldn't believe his luck, as if he hated his curiosity but couldn't resist prodding at an open wound, Mark jokingly replied that they couldn't fire him because he made the most delicious baguettes, better than both of them. Junior laughed shakily, looking so relieved that JB could see in Mark's eyes that was the very moment they both completely let it go, even though they had forgiven him much earlier.  
  
  
  
Still, even though he didn't resent Junior, JB could tell as the person who spent the most time with him that for a while after that Mark was still feeling stressed, hurt and shaken. He found him once in their apartment, following the faint scent of his favourite brand of cigarettes through the quiet house, towards the fire escape. He found Mark sitting on it, dangling his legs, eyes looking distant and far away as they used to when he got pensive and brooding. He was puffing absently at his cigarette and looked up, startled when JB stepped onto the narrow platform, then smiled welcomingly and made space for him.  
  
JB slid in to sit down beside him with difficulty. He took the drag of Mark's cigarette he offered him, tasting Mark on his lips, bitter yet sweet. He licked his lips and turned to let his gaze run admiringly over Mark's princely side profile, with quiet and proud proprietariness.  
  
"You look good," he said, partially to take Mark's mind off stressful thoughts and partially because it was true. In recent months JB had noticed that his arms and body had been gaining bulk. "You've filled out."  
  
Now, Mark turned to him, putting out his cigarette carefully on the metal platform and smiling at JB with a dark playfulness that made his heart skip a beat.  
  
"Thanks," he murmured, seeming pleased that JB had noticed. "I've been working out."  
  
JB was surprised. He had noticed that Mark sometimes left the house with his gym bag on the way out but he hadn't guessed he had been actually going to the gym on a regular basis.  
  
"Why?" he asked stupidly, because the air between them suddenly felt a few degrees hotter and his eyes were uncontrollably drawn to Mark's defined biceps rippling through his threadbare shirt, breathtakingly thick where they thrusted out of the sleeves.  
  
But he was distracted from his lustful thoughts when Mark replied, sounding subdued, "I want to be stronger for you."  
  
JB felt a pang of sadness and anger spike in his chest. "You're strong enough," he said firmly, keeping his voice calm. "Mark..." JB touched the side of his face to make him look at him. "I know you're the _hyung_ , but can't you let me be the stronger one for you sometimes too?"  
  
Mark looked surprised, then touched. "JB..." he said quietly with a small smile, leaning into JB's palm. "Thank you."  
  
JB blushed at Mark's serious, beguiling eyes now completely trained on him, when suddenly the moment was interrupted by Mark's phone ringing.  
  
He smiled when he saw the screen, sliding the button to accept the call without hesitation. "It's my parents, calling from Taipei," he whispered to JB, who promptly jumped out of his skin.  
  
"W-what?!" he gulped, before hurrying to bow to the screen ridiculously, hands flying up to smooth his hair. Beside him, he heard Mark softly laughing at his fluster but he was in a total panic, Mark's parents peering curiously out of the screen at him, waving and calling out cheerful greetings.  
  
"Yi-en, is that the JB you mentioned?" he heard Mark's father asking in Mandarin, which his grasp of was fluent to understand basic conversation by now. His gaze flew to Mark as his hands stilled, taken aback that Mark had brought him up to his parents. What had he told them about him? He panicked further, hoping he didn't look too freaky on the screen.  
  
Then Mark's mother added, "Your best friend?" and his heart leapt as he looked over at Mark, smiling adoringly at the screen, cheeks flushed with embarrassment and pride.  
  
He nodded easily, then added as if it were the most natural thing in the world, "Also my boyfriend now."  
  
An awkward silence fell, in which the FaceTime window lagged for a few excruciating seconds. Then it pixelated into motion, and Mark's mother's voice streamed out of the speakers, the tinny effect making it sound shrill to JB's ears. "Yi-en, you're gay?"  
  
JB thought he might need a paper bag to breathe into as he whirled around open-mouthed to see Mark nodding calmly at the phone, looking pale and mildly terrified but also defiant and unabashed.  
  
There was another awkward silence, this time not because of lagging issues. Then his father replied, "Oh. I see."  
  
Mark turned the phone a little, so the screen faced JB. "Isn't he handsome? He's also the nicest guy I've met here. Dad, mom, remember I told you how he supported me, kept me company, and cheered me up when I missed you?"  
  
His parents paused, before nodding, looking teary-eyed in the small screen. JB tripped over his words of courtesy as they gratefully thanked him.  
  
"JB..." Mark's mother said, beaming tearily at him. "Please take care of our Yi-en. We worry about him, being so far away from home."  
  
"Yes, please visit us in person soon," his father added warmly. JB hastily replied with passionate and polite assurances. They seemed impressed that JB could speak basic Mandarin and he was relieved he had had the foresight to learn it.  
  
The moment Mark hung up the phone, he nearly shrieked, "Did you just come out to your parents?"  
  
Mark shrugged, looking unperturbed, but the damp sheen of sweat on his temples betrayed his nonchalance. "No time like the present, right?"  
  
"Oh my god, Mark --" He was freaking out.  
  
"Jaebum... I'm sorry if this sounds rude, but they'll just have to deal with it, whether or not they like it. Because I don't want them to ask me when I'll be settling down with a nice Chinese girl anymore."  
  
That silenced JB, who huffed in an unexpected bout of jealousy. "What's wrong with a nice Chinese girl?" he asked petulantly.  
  
Mark closed the distance between them in a smooth move, his lips hovering a breath away from JB's.  
  
"Nothing," he whispered, eyes dark. "But _qin ai de_ , you're the one I'm in love with."  
  
  
  
That night, he ran his fingers down the lean, muscular planes of Mark's body, trying to ease out the tension from his knotted muscles. He could never get over the contrast between Mark's doe-eyed innocence and his sinfully supple body, his hips flexible in ways that still made JB's throat go dry as he groped the growing bulge tenting the front of Mark's boxers with clumsy hands, and Mark rolled his pelvis forward uselessly until he eventually lost his patience and flipped JB breathlessly onto his back, looming over him with intent in his eyes. There was something about Mark's maturity, his stoic calm that made him seem so much more _adult_ than JB, even though they were nearly the same age.  
  
But one thing he had learnt from Mark was the skill of dirty-talking.  
  
"Slower... deeper..." he gasped as Mark replied his commands with body-racking thrusts. "Let me feel you." He gripped Mark's sides, legs curled around his calves as Mark went in as far as he could go and stayed there obediently, slurping at JB's lips to delay them both from the orgasms they could feel building up in their bodies.  
  
They had made it a mission to christen all the possible surfaces they could fuck on in the house, commemorate them with quick and dirty fucks as they did but with the tamer method of kissing in the bakery. But privately, JB still preferred it when Mark had him spread eagled beneath him like this in the bedroom, taking his time to unwrap JB gently and draw out his moans, whispering that they had the whole long night ahead of them.  
  
"Jeez," he said, waking up the next morning with his limbs aching after a wild night of scalding sex. "I never pegged you to be such a sex maniac."  
  
He blushed at the way Mark didn't even looked ashamed, laughing eyes raking down JB's body assessingly and appreciatively, rolling him over in one swift motion.  
  
"Guilty as charged," he whispered, leaning down to steal JB's pleasured gasp from his lips.  
  
  
  
Later on, lying sleepily in Mark's arms as he dozed, tired out from doing all the thrusting while JB just lay beneath him and moaned, JB savoured the mundane bliss of just being able to lie in on the rare day off they had together. He would have to go in to work a little later because Junior couldn't handle the kitchen alone for an entire day, but for now... for now Mark's arms and his bed were warm, and JB was comfortable.  
  
He thought of how even after living in the US for so many years, getting accustomed to the language and lifestyle, he still never completely thought of it as home. Not until he entered the bakery and met Mark, who had redefined the word altogether for him, who had proven to him the saying, _home is where the heart is_. Who had torn down all of JB's grand notions of happiness and showed him that sometimes, it could be as simple as waking up next to someone you loved and spending a quiet day indoors with them, just talking and laughing and enjoying each other's company. Somewhere along the way, while they were both unaware, Mark had come to fill every important role in JB's life -- hyung, friend, mentor, soulmate, lover.  
  
  
x  
  
  
At the next monthly staff meeting, they sat down next to each other on the couch of the storage room where the it was being held.  
  
By the end of the hour, Jackson's legs were draped over his lap like a sleazy and perverted husband's, his arms sloppily thrown over Junior's shoulders. When Junior tried uncomfortably to move, he only tangled their limbs together further.  
  
"Ewww!" Bambam shouted exaggeratedly when they were scattered and he stood up to see them. "You guys are so disgustingly _happy_ and _domestic_ , I think I just threw up in my mouth a little."  
  
"Speak for yourself," Jackson retaliated without missing a beat, not letting go of Junior.  
  
"Hey, don't mess with my bae!" Youngjae quickly stepped up, protectively standing in front of Bambam.  
  
Jackson chuckled. "Look who's here, it's your knight in shining armour."  
  
Bambam blushed furiously. "You are so whipped," he told Jackson in disgust, even though Junior hadn't said a thing. "I'm disowning you."  
  
Jackson just shrugged carelessly and continued cuddling Junior. When the peanut gallery had finally left in resignation, he whispered in his ear playfully, "So are we social pariahs now?"  
  
Junior giggled. "I guess so." The other staff had coined them as the Siamese twins couple, because they had become inseparable. Wherever one was, the other surely could be found not far away. Junior let his eyes flutter closed for a while in Jackson's warm, secure embrace, and wondered how he had ever fallen in love with Jackson Wang, Jackson who used the word swag way too often; who had found Junior beautiful even when he had arrived as just a dowdy and bespectacled country bumpkin from a small town in Korea; who he wanted to protect, possess and be possessed by.  
  
Through the past year, they had laughed and cried and gotten angry, ignored and flirted with each other tirelessly and outrageously. They had fought hard, but they had loved harder. And in the end their love had triumphed and come out stronger.  
  
And Junior had faith that their love would continue to overcome all obstacles that stood in their way. Maybe he was being overly confident, but he just had a feeling, a positive premonition, that because they had been through so much, the course of their love would be more or less smooth sailing from now on.  
  
  
  
Jackson's arms tightened around him, nudging him out of his sweet and dreamy reverie.  
  
"Do you know that today is our first anniversary?"  
  
"What? It is?"  
  
"Well, it's the exact same day I found you at the Dumpster a year ago... and since you said you fell in love with me from the first day..."  
  
"Oh. I hadn't realised."  
  
"I have a present for you."  
  
"Really? You're so sweet! What is it?"  
  
"Hang on, I'll go get it from my bag."  
  
"Okay!"  
  
"..."  
  
"..."  
  
"... Do you like it?"  
  
"Umm... do I really have to wear this?"  
  
"Of course! You don't want to?"  
  
"Who would want to wear a baseball jacket with big letters screaming PROPERTY OF WANG on the back?!"  
  
"... Me?"  
  
"You can wear it then! Be my guest!"  
  
"But I already had another matching couple jacket custom made, with PROPERTY OF PARK printed on the back."  
  
"Oh my god. I'm gonna throw up. Be right back. Or maybe not."  
  
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOO........... JUNIOOOOOOOORRRR........."  
  
  
x  
  
  
When they finally had a chance to go car-hunting, they were fortunate enough to quickly stumble across a good deal for a biscuit-coloured Ford station wagon, secondhand but restored to mint condition. On their rare mornings off together, after sleeping in as late as they could without their stomachs grumbling, they would pile into the car, and take turns to drive to the IHOP twenty minutes away. Mark would claim he was going there to do market research, but JB knew their stacks of fluffy warm pancakes and mouth-wateringly golden brown waffles were secretly his guilty pleasures.  
  
He found himself gridlocked in rush-hour traffic one evening on the way back from In 'N' Out where he had gone to grab some dinner to go from the drive-through because Mark loved their burgers. His phone rang, Mark's latest selfie of his bare shoulder and tousled hair flashing across the caller ID. JB suppressed a giddy smile and slid his thumb over the screen to accept the call, putting Mark on speaker so his voice filled the small space of the car interior.  
  
"Where are you, _baobei_?" Mark sounded muffled, unusually vulnerable and needy.  
  
"I'm on my way home, baby. Are you okay?"  
  
"Yeah..." There was an achingly adorable snuffling sound. "I just woke up from my nap, and you weren't here..."  
  
"I'm sorry, honey. I'm stuck in traffic." His knuckles paled over the stick shift with frustration.  
  
"Come back soon."  
  
"Of course. As soon as I can."  
  
"But drive safe. Don't speed."  
  
"Never. Don't worry, babe."  
  
"... Hmm, okay. I miss you."  
  
"I wish I was right next to you, right now."  
  
"Me too, _baobei_."  
  
"..."  
  
"It's okay. I'll be waiting."  
  
"Okay..."  
  
"And I'll get ready while I wait."  
  
"R-ready?"  
  
"Yes, baby. Ready."  
  
"What does that mean?"  
  
"What do you think it means?"  
  
"Oh my god, Mark --"  
  
"Switch to your video call for a sec, Jae."  
  
"Holy shit --"  
  
"What's that noise? Jaebum, are you speeding? You promised you wouldn't!"  
  
"But Mark --"  
  
"I'm going to put my clothes back on if you don't drive slooowly."  
  
"No, please --"  
  
"Jae, I'm serious."  
  
"Okay, Mark, I got it! But this fucking traffic --"  
  
"Jaebum, calm down, okay? I'll stay on the line. We can talk till you reach home."  
  
"Can you video call me again?"  
  
"No. Later. When you get back."  
  
"Aww... okay, hyung. Don't hang up."  
  
"I won't hang up, Jaebum-ah. Just keep your eyes on the road, for God's sake."  
  
"I love you so much."  
  
"..."  
  
"Mark?"  
  
"Sorry, Jae. I just... Me too. I love you too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is for karatefeelings, whose cute cheerleading on the previous chapter really encouraged me in writing this one :) the line "i'll punish you to stay by my side forever." is actually from the t-drama i referenced in earlier chapters, fondant garden. the chinese sentence in this chapter means "be a little stronger and braver, okay?" and qin ai de = dearest, thanks to my good friend e. for helping me think of this endearment and suggesting that markbum should use it, as well as our friends lan and cookie for agreeing! i actually have a kinda... surprise for the next chapter so cookies for anyone who can guess? haha


End file.
